


To Honor and Cherish

by WandererRiha



Category: Suikoden III
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Gen, Gowns, Knights - Freeform, Leo needs more fan love, M/M, Marriage, Zexen Knights, balls, discrimination wtf, holiday fic, how do I relationship?, relationships, salome's mum, sekrits, six mighty knights, survivor not victim, the council are jerks, triggery stuff, yay OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:29:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 40,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1928412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandererRiha/pseuds/WandererRiha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leo and his new bride weather the winter season in Vinay del Zexay with the aid of some friends. Navigating the treacherous battlefield of high society is not something either of them would care to deal with, but both are forced into a duel of etiquette. Insults are hurled, accusations are thrown, and Leo discovers a deeply personal score that has yet to be settled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Your Ladyship

Like so many active duty couples, the wedding had been hasty and the honeymoon delayed: it would have been too horribly awkward with a house full of guests. Although Leo had filed the requisitions to have her transferred out of the women’s barracks and she’d updated her marital status- much to the shock of the clerical staff- the ripple of social backlash had been minimal. Then again, it was only Brass Castle. They were among fellow soldiers and friends. Once the news reached Vinay del Zexay, the reaction would be much worse.

Moving from a straw cot in a room shared with three other women off the edge of the female barracks to a full suite of rooms with a feather tester was a jump in accommodations to say the least. Had they not been so horrendously busy, she might have had time to think it all a bit awkward. However, they were both soldiers. It would not be the first time either of them had had to share sleeping arrangements. Indeed, there were few moments at which either of them lay down or got up at the same time. Despite popular rumor, the first few weeks of their marriage were emphatically devoid of romance.

It wasn’t until winter leave, as she and Leo were riding home, side by side, that the reality began to sink in. They were going home, not just to his home but _their_ home. They were married now. She was Lady of Gallen Manor. It was too surreal to try to process, and so she put the thought aside, allowing it to simmer at the back of her mind.

There was a groom waiting for them in the stable yard, but rather than hand him the reins, she held tight.

“Where shall I put her?”

The groom turned and looked to Leo, bewildered.

“Wherever you wish, there’s plenty of space,” Leo told her. “Choose as you will.”

There weren’t many animals in the stables- one stall was a bit grander than the others, clearly that of Leo’s charger. However, aside from three more modest quarter horses, a draft horse, and a sturdy little donkey, most of the stalls were empty. The one next to Reilan’s was vacant and she led Cierelle into it.

“Ronald cares for the animals,” Leo told her over the dividing wall. “He’ll soon learn what Cierelle likes.”

Aurella smiled and nodded, turning to see to her own animal. The groom might know his business, but she wasn’t ready to turn her mount, her greatest possession, over to a stranger. Even Felicia was usually spared the drudgery of mucking stalls and grooming dusty fur and knotted tails. A horse was what made a knight a knight and not simply a foot soldier. Ronald would care for Cierelle one day, but not today. Still, it pleased her to notice that he was watching her, taking note of what she did and how she addressed her animal. Leo was right, the groom did know his business.

Inside the manor it was blessedly warm. Although the snow had not yet been swept in from the sea, the air was crisp and sharp. Until she stepped inside, she hadn’t realized how cold she’d been. The interior was dim and cozy, a fire crackling in the hearth. While the surroundings were passably familiar, it was hard to think of being in Gallen manor as anything but a guest. The last time she had stood in the comfortably worn parlor, she had been married there. It had been the first time she’d ever set foot in the house. Now, it was her house too.

“Your Ladyship.”

It took her a moment to realize that Leo’s steward and butler, Sanson, was addressing her.

“Welcome home.” The old man’s smile was kindly as he took her coat and then Leo’s. It felt funny to be given preference, to be waited upon first. In the back of her mind she wondered if it would always feel so strange?

“Will you and Madam Gallen change before dinner, or would you prefer to eat first?”

Rather than answer, Leo cast her a questioning look. Aurella shrugged, returning the decision to him.

“Sanson, has the parcel arrived?”

The old man nodded. “It has, Milord. The items in question have been prepared and are in your room.”

“Very good. I believe we’ll clean up a bit first.”

“I’ll inform Mrs. Bella.” With that, the butler bowed and left. Aurella watched, bemused, until Leo offered his arm. Hooking her hand on his elbow, she followed him upstairs.

The second floor of Gallen manor was sectioned off into rooms on either side of a wide hallway. During the hunting party, her room had been on the left hand side of the hall, with Chris’s right beside. On the right were three rooms that had been occupied by the male members of the six mighty knights. Leo’s, as the master suite, was near the end of the hall next to the solar which took up the far wall. Behind them, a wide window above the stairs let in the pale winter sunshine.

Sanson and the rest of the staff were nothing if not efficient. Leo’s things had already been unpacked and put away, any soiled clothing spirited off to the laundry. Having little enough of her own, Aurella was not surprised that her belongings had also been neatly tucked away. What confused her, however, was the large picnic basket sitting atop the chest at the foot of the bed. Confused, she turned and asked.

“Leo what is this?”

“A belated wedding present,” he smiled. “It’s tradition for the Gallen men to gift their brides. Open it.”

Shrugging to herself, she undid the latches and pushed back the wooden flaps. Her lips parted as she drew out a paisley shawl made of fine cashmere, done in shades of deep red and gold. Beneath this she found a bottle of perfume packed in lace-trimmed handkerchiefs. A handsome pair of leather gloves lay bound with a satin ribbon at the wrists to keep them together. At the bottom sat a finely carved traveling case, the top engraved with a familiar cipher- a crossed sword and short axe.

“Leo,” she breathed. “It’s too much. I cannot accept this.”

“But you must,” he insisted, stretching to kiss her cheek. “You are my wife. It isn’t fair for the bride’s family alone to stump up a dowry. It’s no more and no less than my own mother received. Indeed, if it makes you feel any better, some of this is her hand-me-downs.”

She laughed at this, and ran the shawl through her hands, enjoying the feel of the soft fabric.

“You have earned it,” he assured her, seeming to read her thoughts. “You deserve this. I want you to have it.”

“Well,” she smiled, leaning in for a kiss. “If you insist.”

\--

Aurella felt like not just a Lady, but a Queen, descending the steps in skirts, her hand on Leo’s arm and the paisley shawl draped over her shoulders.

“I can show you around a bit more tomorrow,” he told her, “unless you’d rather explore on your own. This is your house. If you want to make any changes, do so. You hold the keys now.”

“Do I really?” She couldn’t help the curiosity in her voice.

“Of course. Sanson’s managed things for me, and done so very well, but that’s really the job of the Lady of the manor. If you don’t want to, please don’t feel you have to, but I know things would be expertly run in your hands.”

The only answer she could give was a nod, her mind too busy mulling over the possibilities and already tallying the accounts that such an estate would require. The sight of the long, dark polished dining table and the horrible thought that she and Leo might be seated at opposite ends made her stop short. However, he drew her along, and pulled out the seat to the right of that at the head of the table, the same one she’d occupied during the hunting party. Of course. This was the wife’s seat, the Lady’s place. With a small sigh of relief, she sank down into it.

“You can move down if you like,” he teased, having noticed her nerves. Aurella made a face.

“No thank you. I’d rather not have to use smoke signals to ask you to pass the salt.”

Leo laughed at this, causing the corners of her own mouth to pull back into a grin.

“As I said, arrange things as you will. I’ve been a crusty old bachelor for too long. Aside from finally indulging Sanson in having some of the furniture reupholstered, I’m afraid this place has gone rather to seed. I don’t know much about decorating.”

“Neither do I,” she reminded him as a footman brought in food.

“No, but I don’t want you to think we’ve got to keep the collection of deer antlers in the parlor, or the tapestries in the solar. Stupid place for them, really. Sanson’s had them covered for the last twenty years and for the life of me I cannot imagine why anyone would put them there in the first place if they’re just going to fade.”

Aurella chuckled with him at that.

“Don’t be afraid to do as you please. There’s no knick-knack or piece of furniture that merits any sort of sacred honor. I want you to add your own touch to this place.”

“A woman’s touch?” she asked with a smirk. Leo hid a smile behind his wineglass.

“Something like that.”

“It may be a bit heavy-handed,” she warned. Reaching, her covered her hand with his own.

“So long as the hand is yours.”

\--

A tame forest was a curious thing. Deer and boar roamed here, but not free as they might elsewhere. The animals were herded to a degree, to keep them within the Gallen borders. Only Leo and herself, the gamekeeper, and some of the tenants had the freedom to roam as they would. Leo had shown her and the others around on previous visits, but today she didn’t want a tour. Instead, they’d saddled their horses and ridden off into the baring branches. Leaves crunched under the horses hooves, slow and stately as the animals ambled along. Without warning, Aurella heeled her mount and darted ahead. It took Leo only a moment to respond in kind and chase after her. Cierelle was not a small horse, but much shorter and slimmer than Leo’s great black charger. Lying flat against the mare’s outstretched neck, Aurella managed to avoid the low-hanging boughs and reaching branches that tore at her husband. Reilan, though large, was just as nimble and dodged readily around spaces too narrow to accommodate his girth.

The path widened as the trees drew back, and Leo raced ahead, snatching the hat from her head as he galloped past. With a cry more of amusement than shock, Aurella urged Cirelle on. The forest soon closed on them again, and rather than follow, she turned aside to weave through the trees. Leo waved the hat, taunting her with a laugh until it was snatched from his hand by a low-hanging branch. Aurella turned aside, and grabbed it, but almost lost her saddle. Leo had grabbed her wrist in a firm yet gentle grip. Unwilling to let her hat fall to the forest floor, she kept her fist closed.

Edging Cierelle closer, she leaned and caught Leo’s cheek in her hand. Drawing him close, she stretched to kiss him. Rather than lean so far in the saddle, Leo reached and pulled her from her mount and onto his own, arranging her between himself and the saddle horn. She wrapped her arms around him, partly to keep her seat, but mostly to be close to him. His whiskers tickled her throat as they broke apart, a low chuckle warm against her skin.

“An empty house and you choose the woods?”

“Stage fright,” she told him, hiding her face in the warm spot just under his jaw. “I cannot be expected to perform in front of an audience.”

“Sanson is hardly going to watch through the keyhole,” he told her amused. “The servants won’t bother us.”

“The servants were my equals once,” she reminded him. “It’s strange to be giving orders to civilians.”

“It will come,” he assured her, hugging her close. “And I don’t make a habit of kissing servant girls in corners.”

“Just in the forest?” she teased leaning in again.

“Perhaps,” was his somewhat breathless reply. “I don’t suppose you’re shy of horses?”

She couldn’t help a wicked grin. “Not hardly.”

\--

“We should have gotten married in the spring,” Leo huffed, his breath a misty cloud in the chill air. “It’s too cold out now.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve taken a chill?” Aurella chided, her own cheeks still burning.

“Hardly that,” he replied, flushing a bit himself, “but I’d rather not make a habit- at least not in December.”

She couldn’t help laughing as he lifted her down. Taking advantage of the proximity, she stole a kiss. For once, she didn’t mind leaving her animal to the care of someone else, and handed the reins over to the groom without a second thought.

Rather than sit at table as they had the first night, she and Leo ate a simple meal in front of the fire in their room.

“I’m sorry it’s not a finer spread,” Leo apologized for the soup, bread, and cheese laid out for them. “With us leaving for Vinay del Zexay in another day, it’s not worth it to prepare a large meal.”

“No one to eat the leftovers,” Aurella nodded in agreement. “I for one certainly don’t mind. It’s far better than what the mess hall usually serves up.”

The mess was, by and large, not that bad. Nothing was mouldy or rotten, though the bread was frequently a bit stale and the pottage in need of salt. It was a common joke among the cadets that the castle cooks never bothered to change the menu board and regardless of what was served, every entree was “stew”.

“It’s not a far ride, is it?” she asked. Leo shook his head.

“Not from here, no. Only a few hours.”

“Good,” she returned, leaning in to kiss him. “Then there’s no need to turn in early.”

“No indeed,” he agreed, reaching and pulling her close.

\--


	2. Cocoa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which unlikely friends are made.

“I cannot _believe_ you invited that creature.”

Salome closed his eyes briefly, reminding himself that his mother was not so well informed as he was.

“Lady Gallen is both a commanding officer as well as the wife of one of my good friends. She is First-Lieutenant, Mistress of the Sword, and matriarch of the Gallen family. I assure you, I would not have invited her if I did not feel she wasn’t suitable company. Besides, I can’t very well ask Leo and not his bride, now can I?”

His mother stood silent, a familiar vaguely annoyed expression on her face. She recognized the validity of his argument, but still wasn’t happy about the situation.

“That’s all very well,” she went on, apparently determined to at least make her opinion heard, “but it doesn’t change the fact that she came from nothing. I’ll grant you she’s probably a fine soldier, but she’s a common woman. What can she know of running an estate?”

“Ask her yourself, if you like,” he shrugged. “Perhaps you can offer her some advice. She and Leo will be here tomorrow afternoon.”

\--

Uncertain and vaguely annoyed with her son, Madam Harras nonetheless went about preparing to entertain guests. Social calls were a regular part of the winter routine. Someone dropped by for tea almost daily, and for supper at least once a week. Rather than foist his fellow soldiers on her all at once, Salome had been bringing them by for tea, one after the other. Only the Elf and the farmer had yet to make an appearance. Now, however, he had invited the couple to stay at their house for the week. Admittedly it was an honor to have such a distinguished soldier as Lord Gallen staying under her roof, but as for his wife… Little was known about Lady Gallen outside of rumor and gossip. Lady Harras did not like inviting strangers into her home, but supposed she would have to trust her son’s judgement.

From the parlour, she heard the bell chime and the clack of shoes on the tile floor. After a moment, the door swung open and the butler announced:

“Lord and Lady Gallen.”

Smiling, she rose to meet them.

“Lord Gallen, Lady Gallen,” Lady Harras nodded politely to each of her guests as Lord Gallen briefly bowed over her hand. To her slight surprise Lady Gallen returned the courtesy, inclining her head politely.

“Thank you so much for the invitation,” Leo said, following her to a seat. “I hope it will not be an inconvenience.”

“Not at all,” Lady Harras replied amiably, pouring tea for all present.

From the corner of her eye, she watched the other woman. Lady Gallen was indeed rather old, older than her husband, though not so old as Lady Harras herself. Despite this, she had kept her figure well enough, and her complexion was clear though several shades too dark to be considered fair. Lord Gallen himself was rather swarthy, but it seemed a bit vulgar for a noble wife to be so tan. There were wings of gray creeping in at her temples, but the rest of her jaw-length hair was a deep, glossy brown.

The so-called Lady Guard had been known in their time for behaving like men. Admittedly trousers were part of the knights’ uniforms, but Lady Harras did not think it becoming for women to display their legs so openly. However, Lady Gallen’s skirts were of a decent length, just short of brushing the ground. The woolen suit with its peplum jacket was of a deep shade of blue and very becoming to the woman’s dark hair and eyes. It was plain, yet elegant, decorated with only a row of brass buttons and a frothy lace jabot at her throat.

To her credit, and that of her husband, Lady Gallen behaved handsomely. Although she said little, speaking only when asked a direct question, there was no hint of meekness about her. Like her son and his fellow officers, there was a shrewdness to her gaze and a strength in her bearing. Any other wife new to society might have shrunk shyly from the calculating gaze of the other wives and mothers. Lady Gallen, however, seemed to be conducting an inspection of her own from her seat on the velvet settee. Lady Harras found herself wondering if the table linen had been starched that day, or if there were a smudge on the silver teapot that she had not detected? She took a moment to remind herself that she did not stand in awe of Lady Gallen’s judgement.

While she’d have to be thick indeed not to realize that her every move would be under heavy scrutiny, Lady Gallen seemed utterly unfazed. Her character was on trial as it had never been before, but she behaved as if it were Vinay del Zexay standing inspection and not she. It occurred to Lady Harras that this was the haughtiness of which she had heard others speak, but only one familiar with the military would recognize it for what it was: gravitas. Like her son, Lady Gallen was an officer, and a high-ranking one at that. She was used to giving orders, and was not about to be bullied by a pack of old women in lace bonnets. Lady Harras pressed her lips together to keep from smiling outright. Well, every general needed a good diplomat, did they not?

“Tell me, Lady Gallen,” she began, passing her a teacup, “have you any other acquaintances here in Vinay del Zexay?”

Lady Gallen shrugged. “One or two, but it’s been ages. I’m afraid I haven’t seen them since we were cadets together.”

“Oh?” Lady Harras had not expected this. “May I ask who? Perhaps I could reintroduce you?”

A cautious smile appeared on the younger woman’s face. “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Harras waved the remark away. “You must have your own visitors while you are guests in my house.”

“Well,” Lady Gallen began, “Charlotte Renard, Francesca Di La Rosa, and Deanna Erstford all married and left the corps. After they became civilians, I’m afraid I rather lost track of them.”

“I am acquainted with Madam Di La Rosa,” Lady Harras confirmed. “Send cards and invite them all to tea. I should like to get to know them better myself.”

\--

Word, Lady Harras soon discovered, had gotten round. Not an hour after the Gallens had arrived, a veritable deluge of calling cards descended. The butler must have answered the door twenty times in one hour, accepting card after invitation after card. Most of them were not for her, but she nonetheless sorted them into heaps before passing them along to Lady Gallen. Most of the names were those she knew only through (ill) reputation. These were shallow attempts to gain audience with Lord Gallen’s infamous bride. Her parlour was not a circus ten-in-one where one could come to gawp at freaks of nature. Had the notes been addressed to her, she would have thrown them into the fire without thought. However, such a decision was not hers. Instead, she brought the pile of cards to Lady Gallen herself.

“What on earth?” Lady Gallen remarked, sifting through a heap of invitations so precarious that it barely balanced on the silver platter.

“Invitations- some to you, some of you.”

Lady Gallen blinked, evidently bemused by her sudden popularity. “I see.”

Although the younger woman made no other immediate comment, Lady Harras got the impression that she did, indeed, see.

“I’m afraid none of these names are familiar to me,” she said, looking up from the shuffle of cards at last. “Would you be good enough to help me sift through these?”

Lady Harras smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

In the end, a mere dozen of the invites were accepted and returned. Half would be making the pilgrimage to the Harras home, the rest would see the Gallens riding out to meet their foes. Actually, they would only be venturing into enemy territory three times- and only because the invites could not possibly be turned down. The other cards had come from friends: Lady Lightfellow, Lord Redrum, and, as it turned out, the Di La Rosa’s. Lady Harras resolved to arm Lady Gallen as best she might for such a duel of etiquette.

\--

“What was the name again?” Aurella asked as the Harras’ borrowed carriage rattled along the cobblestones. The ride was smooth enough for wooden wheels on stone, but it still made an appalling racket.

“Dieterich,” Leo supplied. “I confess I don’t know much about them, only that Lord Dieterich is some sort of clerk on the Council staff. One of the secretaries or something. I forget the official title.”

The carriage clattered a halt and Leo flung open the door and jumped out, glad to be out of the chilly little box, plush and upholstered though it might be. Turning, he offered a hand to help her down. Ordinarily Aurella would have climbed down herself, but she took his hand and smiled, holding her skirts clear of the muddy curb with her other hand. She was perfectly capable of making the jump, but things were different here in town. Here she was wearing skirts, and people were watching. However, she reminded herself, she did it mostly to please Leo. After all, why spurn an opportunity to take hands with her husband? There were few enough moments for socially acceptable cuddling in Vinay del Zexay.

The Dieterich home was not particularly large or grand, but very securely dignified. Made of the same gray stone as the other homes in the city, it was wedged between two other moderately stately dwellings. The windows were narrow but long, and an ornamental lintel of worked stone protected the door. A butler bowed them through said door and, after taking their cloaks, showed them to a parlor that looked as if it would have liked to be grandiose but had settled instead for a sort of architectural equivalent of Sunday best.

“Lord and Lady Gallen,” the butler intoned before bowing out.

“How lovely to finally meet you!” A small woman in a silk gown the color of cocoa rose to meet them. Perhaps it was her large dark eyes, her ready smile, and lively chatter, but she reminded Aurella of nothing so much as a brown squirrel.

“Lady Dieterich,” Leo said politely, bowing over her hand. Aurella automatically inclined her head the appropriate thirty degrees. “Thank you so much for inviting us.”

“Not at all,” Lady Dieterich waved them toward the sofa with a sunny smile. “The honor is entirely mine. I’m so glad you came.”

“Thank you,” Leo said, taking a seat, Aurella sinking down next to him. “Will Lord Dieterich be joining us?”

“I’m afraid not.” Briefly, the smile faded. “He’s terribly busy you know. I’m sure I don’t have to tell _you_ , Lord Gallen, of the Council’s uncanny fondness for forms filled out in triplicate.”

“I have had some experience with it, yes,” Leo chuckled.

“Tea?” Lady Dieterich asked. “Or would you prefer chocolate? My husband says I’ll ruin my teeth with so much sugar but if he can have his sherry after dinner I don’t see why I can’t have a sweetie here and there.”

Not wanting to make the decision for both of them, Leo turned to his wife. She did not notice the unspoken question immediately; she’d been studying the chocolate pot, trying to puzzle out whether it was for tea or coffee?

“Chocolate, then,” Leo nodded. “I confess it’s a treat in which I rarely indulge. I’ve never quite mastered the trick of mixing it properly.”

“Yes, the trick is in the preparation,” she agreed, taking up the pot and swirling the wooden muddler to stir up the cocoa that had settled to the bottom. “If one may boast, my parlour is famous for it’s chocolate. Clotted cream? My daughters insist it’s divine that way, but I feel there can be too much of a good thing.”

“I trust your judgement,” Leo deferred, accepting a cup. “It’s a pity your husband could not join us. You must give him our regards, though I’m sure I’ll run into him eventually. I have business with the Council that must be seen to before the end of the season.”

“Oh yes, I’ve heard about that. Not the sort of thing my dear Robert talks about over the dinner table, but news will travel. Mostly he’s convinced they’re trying to drown him in paper, as if the Vice-Chancellor of the Keys didn’t have enough to do.”

There was a rather undignified snort as Aurella struggled not to gag on her chocolate. Reflexively, Leo snatched her cup and patted her on the back. Covering her mouth with a napkin, Aurella coughed until tears ran from her eyes.

“Lady Gallen I am _so_ sorry! Is it too hot? Is there a lump of cocoa undissolved?”

Unable to answer, Aurella shook her head, still gasping for breath. “Excuse me,” she wheezed at last. “No, I just swallowed at the wrong moment.”

“Oh yes I hate when that happens,” Lady Dieterich agreed. “May I offer you a cake instead?”

“Thank you.” Automatically, Aurella took one of the little frosted buns and bit off an edge. Aside from the single bite however, the cake lay forgotten on her plate. Leo and Lady Dieterich chatted amiably about nothing in particular, Aurella only supplying a monosyllabic answer when required. After a small eternity, a little china clock on the mantle chimed and Leo stood up.

“Thank you again, Lady Dieterich,” he said, nodding over her hand once more. “The chocolate was indeed excellent.”

“You’re very welcome I’m sure. Please do stop by again? I know it will be a great disappointment for my husband to know he missed you.”

Pleasantries fluttered around her head like butterflies as Aurella made her own goodbyes. Not until Leo had boosted her back into the carriage did the world begin to right itself.

“Are you alright?” The words were strong and warm as was the arm around her shoulders. With a sigh, she leaned into it.

“I think I’m allergic to chocolate.”

\--

Aurella was sick later that evening, and did not attend dinner with the Harras’. The chocolate turned her stomach, making her glad that the Harras mansion had an indoor privy. Although Leo had heard her retching, he knew enough not to barge in until she was ready to face him. This was not how she had wanted to begin their marriage, sick and shivering in his arms, fighting not to cry.

 _Food poisoning_ , she insisted to herself. _A peasant constitution can’t digest something so rich._

After the third time Leo woke to find her clinging to the edge of the bed dry heaving, he threatened her with a doctor.

“I’m fine,” she rasped. “Just a stomach ache, nothing more.”

“You _need_ a doctor,” he’d insisted.

“I need a brandy,” she retorted crossly, too ill to worry if she were being unreasonable.

“If I may, sir?” the chambermaid who’d been roused to deal with the minor crisis of a guest’s illness interjected.

“Yes?”

“A drop of brandy wouldn’t go amiss. Spirits does wonders to settle the stomach.”

“Very well,” Leo agreed. “Fetch a glass for Lady Dancon.”

The girl dropped a hasty curtsey and scurried from the room. There was a decanter and a pair of glasses in the next room. It did not take her long to pour a measure of liquor into one of them and return with it. Aurella sipped it carefully, glad for the more cleansing burn of the alcohol as it washed the horrid taste of acid from her throat. The brandy had the added bonus of not only settling her churning stomach but making her sleepy. Allowing her husband to tuck her in, she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

She awoke with a start, scrabbling blindly for a knife that was not under her pillow. The tapping of knuckles against wood sounded again.

“Lady Gallen?” a mousy voice queried from the other side of the door.

The stab of panic subsided as recollection dawned. She was in Lord Harras’ house. She’d been a guest at- her mind skipped over the entire afternoon- and become ill. Food poisoning. Like as not she’d been allowed to sleep through breakfast, which would explain the lack of husband in her bed.

“Are you awake, Milady?”

“Yes,” Aurella croaked, only then realizing how dry and sore her throat was. “Come in.”

The maid elbowed the door open, her hands occupied with a covered tray.

“Her Ladyship thought you might like something light,” the girl said, setting the short-legged tray over her legs like a miniature bridge.

Tugging her bedgown more closely about her shoulders, Aurella lifted the lid. The cook had chosen well. Although she’d expected to have her throat close at the stench of fried eggs or porridge, none were present. Instead, only a pot of tea, several slices of toast, and two dishes of different jam sat innocently beneath the silver dome.

“Would you like anything else, Milady?” the maid asked.

“You might fetch me another drink,” Aurella rasped, pouring herself a cup of tea. Servant’s gossip be damned, she needed an eye-opener after a night like that. More than once she’d nursed gut misery with alcohol since tea was a rare commodity on the battlefield. Obediently, the maid curtsied and went to procure the requested drink.

“Here you are, Milady.”

“Thank you.”

Aurella took little notice of the girl as she puttered about the room straightening this and that. Closing her eyes, she finished the tea before beginning on the brandy. It was mint tea, good for soothing a sore stomach. Mentally, Aurella awarded full marks to the kitchen staff of the Harras house. However, she wasn’t sure a bit of toast and herbal tea would cure the knot in her stomach. Alcohol might, but she doubted Lord Harras’ cellar was up to the task.

\--


	3. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the ladies do a bit of shopping.

“My dear, is that all you own?”

Aurella looked up from her porridge and blinked. “What?”

“Your dress,” Lady Harras nodded at the simple riding habit. “Don’t you own any other styles?”

“I have a few things,” Aurella shrugged. “I’ve worn uniforms for most of my life.”

“Indeed.” Lady Harras took a thoughtful sip of tea. “Would you care to accompany my daughter and I on a little shopping trip? It’s always worth a walk through the market this time of year even if you don’t buy anything. The stalls are simply bulging with wears.”

“Alright,” Aurella agreed. Shopping was not something in which she’d had much experience outside of visits to quartermaster’s. It might be fun to peruse wares that didn’t come from the military.

\--

While the produce and meat markets were largely outside, the haberdashers, perfumers, and other decidedly feminine shops into which Aurella had never ventured were all located indoors. Although a draft of warmer air had pushed the snow away for the moment, it was still cold and rather windy as they wandered along the cobbled streets. It was damp, but not muddy, so there was no need for patens or heavy boots. As it was, the three women wore sturdy shoes as they walked. A carriage would have been more fashionable, but it was a fine day and walking was warmer than sitting in a thin wooden box.

It still felt a bit strange to go about in skirts. After almost thirty years in trousers, it had come as a mild shock to realize she’d missed it. Clothing, she felt, ought not to be divided by gender, but by purpose. Skirts, by and large, were not practical for riding horses or sword practise. However, trousers on a lady did look a little strange at a ball, unless she was in uniform. Skirts were cooler in the heat of summer, and she liked the swish and rustle of her petticoats as she walked. The odd looks were lessening, but there was still many a perplexed expression cast in her direction. People, it seemed, just didn’t expect the tough-as-nails Training Mistress to go about dressed like a woman.

To be fair, the last time she’d worn a skirt, she’d been little more than a child. Wearing the nicest dress she owned, she’d enlisted as one of the first women to be part of the Zexen army. She had wanted to make a good impression, to be certain she’d have something decent to wear to church, only to discover all the boys had shown up in rather tatty clothes that in many cases were a size or so too small.

“Didn’t you know?” one had told her, surprise written on his freckled face. “They burn your old clothes and cut your hair. That’s the first part of being a knight.”

Horrified, Aurella had asked if her dress might be preserved or put away for occasions when a uniform was not necessary, but no one had listened. Her best garment had been tossed onto the bonfire along with the hand-me-down rags of wealthy men’s sons. She was not even allowed to keep her chemise or stays. A boy’s shirt- miles too big for her skinny frame- had been shoved over her head. The leggings made her feel naked and exposed, and the waistcoat did little more than obscure her budding breasts, but she stood firmly at attention as a man with scissors hacked off her thick brown braid. She didn’t mind that so much. Hair would grow back, but it had been a struggle not to cry for her lost dress.

“Here we are!” Miss Harras’ voice rang out over the bare cobble streets, snapping her back to the present.

Veering away from the main street toward a little gabled archway, she led the older women into a small, tunnel-like space. On either hand, store fronts faced the narrow walkway. It was not a tunnel, Aurella realized, looking up, but one of many narrow paths between buildings constructed so close to one another that they gave the illusion of enclosed space. The wide glass windows of the haberdasher’s, the furrier’s, the jeweler’s, and a dozen other store fronts with a decidedly feminine slant lessened the darkness and the sensation of navigating a maze. Noblewomen in fine caps and wide skirts wandered past, their dark-clad maids and footmen with arms full of parcels trailing behind them. It occurred to her belatedly that neither of the Harras women had brought a servant. Perhaps they did not intend to buy anything?

Miss Harras, muff tucked close to her middle, stood admiring a set of tortoise shell combs on display in the frosted shop window.

“Mother, look at these!”

Madam Harras did look, and nodded approvingly. “Very handsome, and not a bad price I should imagine. Shell is not nearly so costly as silver. Your hair isn’t so heavy that it would require much more.”

“Oh I have a lovely set already,” Miss Harras demured, blushing. “I only thought these were pretty.”

“They are at that. Let’s go on to the haberdasher’s. We can make a more thorough examination after that.”

The haberdahser’s was near the middle of the narrow lane, and easily the largest of all the stores. Thick bolts of fabric lined the walls floor to ceiling, great spools of ribbon stood speared on long wooden shafts like roasts over an open fire. Huge boquets of lace sat wound round and round the flat wooden spools, giving the impression of an army of tiny petticoats. Strings of luminous beads and bowls of glittering sequins sparkled from the corners. Already several women were crowded inside- the press made more awkward by crinolines and panniers- being assisted by half a dozen rather too-handsome young men.

This was a far cry from the quartermaster’s. Brass Castle might have an impressive array of weapons, and a never-ending supply of uniforms, but Aurella had never seen so many expensive things in one place at one time. Silk, satins, and damasks were pulled out and offered to the ladies to finger. Only the finest Chisha muslin would do for the chemises, caps, and handkerchiefs of Zexen’s elite. Although ridiculously expensive, it was perhaps the least of the many drygoods offered at the store.

Unthinking, she drifted over to one of the walls of fabric, just admiring the array of colors, textures and prints. They’d been arranged on the shelves according to type and color; a shelf of silk near the ceiling, satin below it, the velvet, damask, taffeta, and many others, all of them dark at one end and light at the other.

“Good day, Milady.”

It took Aurella a moment to realize the young man was talking to her. He was young, slender, and a little too primped for her taste. She sincerely doubted he dressed like this on his off hours, then again, perhaps he did. There was more than one dandy wandering the halls of Brass Castle, but this boy was leaning closer to “fop”. At least he wasn’t wearing makeup, though his hair could have done will less pomade.

“Would you like to examine anything more closely?” he asked her, putting up one hand to reach for a roll of claret-colored damask. Although she would have loved to finger such exotic fabric, she dared not. Unlike the other fine ladies pawing over the merchandise, her hands were not white or soft. Heavy callouses and short nails made for good combat practise, but not for sewing or needlework.

“No thank you,” she told him, folding her gloved hands tightly behind her back. “I’m only window shopping.”

“Why?” asked a second voice at her shoulder. Madam Harras had come up behind her. “Why shouldn’t you buy a few yards?”

Aurella shook her head and smiled ruefully. “Whatever would I do with it?”

Madam Harras shook her head in something like exasperation. “Whatever you please. Scrub floors in it if you like.” The smile she offered was small, but teasing, almost playful. It felt a bit strange to see it on a civilian woman’s face. Strange, but welcome.

“You cannot tell me you can’t afford it,” she went on. “I’m sure your husband would appreciate your fine taste. Young man,” she turned and addressed the young clerk. “Fetch that down.”

With a nod, he reached and pulled the bolt of cloth from the shelf, skillfully cradling it in one arm and holding out a short length for them to examine with the other. Without removing her soft leather gloves, Aurella reached and slid her fingers over the smooth fabric. It whisked pleasantly at her touch.

“It becomes you very well,” the clerk remarked, holding the length near her face. “Not just anyone can wear red.”

Oh yes. She’d forgotten. Red was a controversial color for women. Stripes were all right, as was print, but solid red of any shade could not be safely worn by anyone but girls under ten and married women over forty. Well, she fit in that last category didn’t she?

“Oh that looks lovely!” Miss Harras had come to join the conversation. “Are you getting a length?”

“Oh no,” the response was automatic, though Aurella remembered to modulate her tone from disdain to amusement. “No, frummery will do me no good on duty or off. I can’t ride in something like this, I’d destroy it.”

“A dressing gown then,” Madam Harras suggested. “You’re hardly likely to damage the fabric lounging on the divan.”

Aurella blinked. “The what?”

“It’s a type of sofa,” Miss Harras supplied.

“Oh. Well, I’m not much for lounging.”

“Balderdash,” Madam Harras insisted. “If you don’t buy it, I’ll get it myself and make a gift of it.”

“No, please,” Aurella deferred. “Don’t do that.”

“Then pick something. If not this, then something else.” Her tone was so commanding that Aurella had to fight the urge to salute.

“Alright, alright,” she assented, struggling not to laugh. “Only I haven’t much money with me.”

“Charge it,” Madam Harras replied loftily. “They can deliver it to the house this afternoon. You can pay for it then.”

That explained the lack of servants.

“Very well,” Aurella agreed, feeling somewhat outmaneuvered. It was true she could afford the fabric, but the money was Leo’s and not hers. While she was certain he would buy up half the store if she so much as hinted at it, she still felt guilty spending his money on something so foolish as her own misbegotten vanity. Her sister had been the beauty of the family, and while reasonably satisfied with her own looks, Aurella had never thought of herself as pretty. Dressing a scarecrow in silk did not make it any less a scarecrow. Still, if the fabric was to be made into a dressing gown, only Leo was likely to see it, and his approval was all that mattered.

“How much, madam?”

Aurella shook off her reverie to notice the clerk had spread the fabric across the cutting table, a large pair of scissors poised in one hand.

“Er…” she replied blankly. Mercifully, Madam Harras stepped in.

“How tall are you?” she asked.

“Five-nine without boots.”

“And around?”

Of course. Her measurements. Since only the clerk appeared to be paying them any mind, she rattled off the appropriate numbers. The young man doodled for a moment on a scrap of paper, evidently calculating the necessary yardage of fabric before measuring out the fabric. It seemed an alarming amount to Aurella, but Madam Harras did not hesitate to argue an extra few feet out of the by now rather harassed clerk.

Leaving the cut fabric at the shop to be delivered later, they moved on to the next shop. Aurella hung back a bit, looking and not touching all the beautiful and costly wares. As a girl she had occasionally pressed her nose against a shop window. At one time she would have dreamed about owning a silk petticoat, a string of pearls, or a silver comb. Then hard times had come and her only thoughts had been of survival, of keeping her family safe if not together. After that she had had to stop thinking like a woman and begin thinking like a soldier.

Being a female in the army had been… She couldn’t find a word for it. Perhaps because all these years, she hadn’t been living as a woman. She had never given much thought to her own gender, had simply lived inside her body as anyone else did. However, it was her body that had been offensive. It had not occurred to her that anything but short-cropped hair would be acceptable. How was she to know that the close-fitting trousers would hug her hips and legs in such a way that everyone stared at her whether they meant to or not? What she was supposed to do about breasts that bounced and jiggled with every motion with no stays to restrain or support them, she was sure she didn’t know. What truly annoyed her was that when she and the others tried to bury their female traits, to act like soldiers, they were ridiculed for it. Contrariwise, should they dare to indulge in any feminine behavior, they weren’t considered tough enough to serve as part of the Zexen army.

They had found ways to manage, she and the other women. The first year had been the hardest. After they had survived the first round of training, of hazing and harassment, other women had been allowed in. There was at least safety in numbers with a growing band of low-born women to look after and support one another. They had done it almost automatically. There were no queen bees, no would-be princesses. Realising there was no one else to turn to, every one of them had banded together like sisters. The St. Loa nuns, she was sure, were not as close as she was to her own sisters-in-arms. Fencing vests stolen from the practise yard became jumps. Ruined bedsheets were fashioned into simple chemises. It was small, but it was something. A way to reclaim a tiny bit of their identity as women. Not until the first noble daughters entered the corps, however, did the ban on long hair finally come to an end. Danielle had grown her thick, blue-black tresses down to her waist and wore them in a pair of wide, girlish plaits just for spite.

Aurella had never been able to cut her hair so short as Henrietta and some of the others, but she’d never had the patience to grow it out again, either. Combs and hairpins were of no use to her, and she stood back as Miss Harras fussed over the tortoise shell combs once more before they headed home. In the end, Madam Harras had bullied her into buying a jar of scented cream for her hands, a pair of fur-lined gloves, and a handsome wolf pelt. What she was going to do with the fur piece, she wasn’t entirely sure. Miss Harras had suggested trimming a jacket, or perhaps the as yet unmade dressing gown, with a muff made of the leftover pieces. It was more money than she’d ever spent in one place and she felt a trifle awkward about it.

The boys, it seemed, had beaten them home, if the great coats hanging in the foyer were any indication. In their room, Leo was looking curiously at the wrapped parcels sitting on their bed.

“Been shopping?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered, feeling strangely nervous. “I hope that’s alright.”

Leo laughed. “My dear, you don’t need to ask me! If you want something, get it. I trust you in all things, including how best to spend your money.”

“It isn’t mine,” she insisted, “it’s yours.”

“Has the army ceased to pay you?” he asked feigning surprise.

Aurella rolled her eyes. “No, of course not.”

“Then you must spend your wages however you see fit.”

“Well,” she returned with a smile, “we’ll see if you still think me so wise with my money when you see what I’ve bought.”

His smile spread to a grin. “Nothing would please me more.”

\--


	4. Inside-Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aurella attends the Federation Day Ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the follow looks a bit familiar, it's because it's inspired by, and borrowed from [Murder On The Dance Floor](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1091771/chapters/2197530) by the marvelous [Quicksilver_ink](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilver_ink). She is aware and has give her full approval, and several beta reads, for which I am endlessly grateful. <3

There were any number of dowagers, grandmothers, and other Women of A Certain Age milling about in frilled bonnets and dark-colored gowns. However, Percival did not recognize the broad shoulders and ramrod posture of Leo’s new wife. Percival could remember seeing Lady Aurella Dancon wearing skirts only once or twice since he’d known the woman. Seeing the stocky, stern-faced female knight in a gown would no doubt be even stranger than having the Captain General trimmed in ribbons and lace.

Leo was easy enough to pick out of a crowd. His head was always amongst the highest in any gathering that did not involve Elves. While there were a few in attendance, Leo’s dark que caught his eye and he began negotiating his way through tail coats and crinolines toward him.

“Ah, Percival!” Leo turned to greet him, revealing a dark figure on his arm.

Of all the terms that came to mind when describing the elder knight, “feminine” had never been one of them. Lady Dancon was tall for a woman, her head reaching just above her husband’s shoulder. Her gown, as per regulation, was dark, but hardly dowdy. Crafted of a deep navy velvet, it made a handsome silhouette of her muscular body, accents of gold trim and fine white lace adorning the high collar and wide cuffs. Instead of a bonnet, her short hair was covered by a net studded with tiny seed pearls and banded in gold. What truly made Percival blink, however, were her jewels. Leo had decked his bride with the best his family vault had to offer. However, the pieces were old and heavy, what Lady Pendragon would have dubbed dreadfully old-fashioned. Pearl drops fixed in knots of gold dangled from her ears, and a thick chain weighted with the original crest of Zexen hung about her neck, the cypher embellished with jewels and precious stones. Alongside her wedding band, she sported an extra ring on each hand, both of solid yet elegant construction. Despite their bulkiness, or perhaps because of it, Dame Aurella wore the jewelry as if it had been fashioned just for her.

“Sir Fraulein,” she said simply, sinking vertically for a moment as Percival took her hand and bent his head over it.

“You look lovely,” he told her, sincerely delivering the compliment.

“Thank you. I feel exactly like a banquet peacock,” Dame Aurella replied with a deceptive air of gravity but a twinkle in her eye. “Trussed up on the outside, and roasting on the inside.”

Percival couldn’t help laughing at this, the older woman smiling wide enough that her teeth showed.

“It’s not much different than parade dress, I suppose,” he mused. “Just another kind of uniform. One without swords.” He arched an eyebrow at the ceremonial sword belted low on Leo’s hip. “Strictly ornamental?”

“I sincerely hope not,” Lady Dancon replied before her husband could open his mouth. “What earthly good is a four-foot letter opener?”

Leo grinned. “So you told me earlier. Don’t worry. I promise I’ll leave first blood to you should shots be fired over which minister has trod on his ladyships toes.” Leaning, he kissed her cheek, immediately triggering a collective gasp and a flurry of shocked whispers among the dowagers. Dame Aurella seemed unaffected by this, and simply cast the other women a depreciating smirk.

“Jealous,” was her only comment.

Percival grinned. “As well they should be.”

It was Leo’s turn to blush, a strange thing to witness. Being married seemed to have made a boy of him, at least when it came to fawning over his wife. Of course brawny Leo and statuesque Aurella were hardly the type to be caught kissing in a corner, but their own unique brand of endearment was touching to watch. Percival wondered sometimes if the other noble couples truly liked one another, but there was no doubt that Leo and his new bride were truly in love.

There were a curious number of stares in Aurella’s direction, he noticed, but Aurella seemed entirely oblivious to the attention. Perhaps she had eyes only for Leo, or perhaps she truly didn’t care. Percival knew only too well that learning to ignore the constant scrutiny of others was a skill she’d had to perfect early on during her tenure in the Zexen military. Still, the admiration was not unwarranted in his mind. The phrase, though said in a mocking undertone, seemed very fitting: “Hasn’t _she_ done well for herself?” Percival had to agree.

There had been a bit of a minor scandal when Leo announced his intentions to court another soldier. While Aurella was a fellow officer in an entirely different division, there had been a fierce and vicious storm of gossip- most of it blaming Dame Aurella for Leo’s affections. She was so old! (Only by seven years.) She was so ugly! (Well really who _did_ look good in fatigues and armor?) There would be no children! (Not by blood, certainly, but had no one heard of adoption or fostering?) Leo had not taken direct action to counter such ugly talk, but after one unfortunate young officer had suggested that there might be children by other means (said officer had been subsequently fed his teeth), the rumor mill wound down significantly.

A couple of technicalities had to be gotten around before Leo could formally pay her suit or ask for her hand. This had been largely solved by giving Dame Aurella the due promotions she should have received ages ago. Therefore she went to her altar a full knight and titled Lady under her own name and merit. It was a wedding present the high command had been glad to give, not only to Dame Aurella but the other women of her rank and service as well.


	5. Quadrille

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is [dancing](http://rubyoftrinity.deviantart.com/art/To-Honor-and-Cherish-Federation-Day-Ball-474468702).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another section of the Federation Day Ball reinterpreted from [Murder On The Dance Floor](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1091771/chapters/2197530) by the marvelous [Quicksilver_ink](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilver_ink). She is aware and has give her full approval, and several beta reads, for which I am endlessly grateful. <3

“You dance beautifully, Madam Gallen,” Lilly began, marching straight up to Leo’s bride. The older, taller woman blinked at the sudden frontal assault. “I told you it would be fun, didn’t I? You and Sir Leo make such a lovely pair.”

“Thank you,” Madam Gallen said, caught somewhere between bewildered and bemused.

“I must say your gown is stunning, quite daring for a woman your age.”

Lady Gallen blinked again at that, but offered no comment.

“And your jewels are simply gorgeous. Are they family heirlooms?”

“Yes.”

“Oh I thought as much. Are you enjoying your stay in the capitol? I hear the Gallen estate is magnificent, but it can be so lonely out in the country, especially during winter.”

“I suppose.”

“When were you and Sir Leo married?” Lilly went on. “It was quite recently, wasn’t it?”

“This past autumn, yes.”

“Why that’s _very_ recent!” Lilly exclaimed, fluttering her fan in delighted shock. “My goodness, I’d have thought you’d be on your honeymoon!”

“We were,” Madam Gallen agreed. “Are. Leo wanted me to experience a ball from the inside.”

“Inside?” Lilly echoed, tilting her head in confusion.

“I am a knight of Zexen as well,” the taller woman explained. “Every ball previous I’ve stood guard duty.”

“That sounds insufferably dull.”

Madam Gallen shrugged. “Well yes, but it was better than flouncing around with a bird cage hanging off my hips.” She paused, eyeing the First Lady of Tinto’s wide panniers. “No offense.”

“Well not just anyone can wear hoops, I’ll grant you,” Lilly conceded, letting the comment stand. Madam Gallen could interpret it as compliment or criticism as she chose. “You don’t approve of dancing and frummery either, then?”

“Not for myself, no. I’m not used to it.”

“Are all knights of Zexen such spoilsports?” Lilly teased. This actually earned her a smile.

“I’m afraid just the High Command-- and their wives.”

It was Lilly’s turn to laugh. “Is that what Sir Leo saw in you?”

“Among other things,” was the sly and cryptic response. Strangely, Lilly found herself struggling not to blush and took the moment to wave her fan in front of her face.

“Really, Lady Gallen!” she said in tones of mock-offense. Leo’s wife shrugged and sipped at her sherry.

“Who can say what will strike a man’s fancy? Indeed the gossips are still trying to unravel that one. Goddess knows I am hardly what any of the Zexen goodwives had in mind.” Her tone was offhanded and careless, as if commenting on the weather. Lilly blinked, having detected no true complaint in the remark.

“I daresay that’s a mystery none of us will solve, at least when it concerns _true_ gentlemen like your husband. Sir Leo is the very embodiment of chivalry. May I therefore infer,” Lilly teased with a sly smile, “that you make an excellent sorbet?”

Both of them dissolved into rather unladylike giggles.

“Or perhaps it is your uncanny skill with a sword?” Lilly had the unique privilege of watching Lady Gallen’s cheeks color ever so briefly, though whether in anger or in embarrassment, she could not tell. It took her a belated second to realize the remark might have come off as unintentionally vulgar. Before she could open her mouth to apologize, however, Lady Gallen spoke:

“I fight with an axe, Lady Pendragon. We both do. A common interest is always a good place to start.”

“I quite agree,” Lilly sighed more than spoke, releasing her held breath. “Can I rely on you and your husband to dance a second set?”

Madam Gallen looked bashful. “I don’t know. I like dancing well enough, but I’m afraid I don’t know any of the more courtly steps, just reels and such. Also,” she nodded to Lilly, indicating their head-and-shoulders height discrepancy, “I’d be nervous about dancing with anyone but Leo. I’d be afraid I’d crush them.”

Lilly felt this was not an unfounded fear. “Well, perhaps another one of the country dances? Those are usually safe enough. No close holds or much partner swapping. There will be at least two more before the end of the night.”

“If Leo wants to,” was her noncommittal response. Lilly took this as a “yes”.

“You know, I had invited you and Lady Lightfellow to tea.”

Lilly jumped slightly, doing her best to turn the guilty shock to surprise. “Did you?”

“Yes, but she mentioned that the invitation never reached her. Would you happen to know anything about it?”

“That’s dreadful!” Lilly rapidly fanned her burning face. “Has anything else gone missing?”

“Apparently three invitations from the Harras family have vanished as well. I’ve asked Leo to speak to the men about it. Can’t have letters and documents meant for the Zexen Army’s Captain General disappearing, now can we?”

“Certainly not! I’ll look into it at once.”

Aurella eyed her critically, the same sort of penetrating stare that her old swordmaster used to give her. Lilly did her level best not to cringe and wilt under the scrutiny. How dare some old lady make accusations at her!

“Of course if you want us to come, we’d be so terribly honored. I’m afraid Lady Chris’s social calendar is almost completely full, but I’m sure she could squeeze in a visit somewhere, though how she’d make time for Lord Salome, I don’t know. Besides, he’s so _dull_. All they ever talk about is books, and tactics, and boring things like that. Topics so dry you’d have to pour water on me to revive me afterwards.”

Madam Gallen had raised a distinctly disapproving eyebrow at her.

“What?” Lilly asked defensively, snapping her fan shut and planting both hands on her hips.

“What was it I said, about common interests?”

Lilly thought about that for a moment.

“Not everyone has the same tastes; not in food, or fashion, or weaponry. Conversation can be bantered back and forth as readily as rapier thrusts. I do not care for gowns or balls, yet here I am, trussed like a partridge.” Turning her head, she looked down at the shorter woman, her gaze less sharp than it had been a moment ago. “I did it to please my husband. Because I love him. And to give the town gossips something else to gnaw on.”

Spreading her fan, Lilly stifled a giggle.

“Don’t be so quick to dismiss what you deem to be uninteresting. Who knows? You might learn something.”

Madam Gallen looked up, as did Lilly, at the heavy tread of footsteps coming towards them. Sir Leo smiled and bowed to them both.

“Ladies,” he said pleasantly before offering his wife his arm. Smiling, she took it, all the world forgotten as she looked into her husband’s eyes. Ordinarily, Lilly would have found the idea of, well, old people getting starry-eyed at each other laughable, but watching the Gallens together triggered a sudden stab of envy. What would it be like to have someone look at her like that?

“I’ll see you for the next reel then?” she called after the retreating couple, but it was debatable if they heard her.

\--

“Lady Gallen! Sir Leo!” Lilly raced up to them, skirts bunched in each hand. “You promised me another dance?”

Before either of them could protest, she’d seized Sir Leo’s thick arm and made a blind grab in Sir Percival’s direction, catching him by the sleeve. He stumbled at the sudden momentum, nearly dropping his champagne.

“Lady Pendragon!” the exclamation came out more of a question as he blundered after her until he could regain his footing. With no other recourse, the knights joined her in line for the dance. Happily, it was another country reel that only required the set of four to swap partners amongst themselves. This meant that at some point, Leo would end up dancing with Lilly, and Aurella with Percival. Exchanging bewildered looks, each honored their partner and put out their hands.

The first few exchanges required the respective couples to mirror each other, stepping up, then back, turning right and left, before all four joined in a rotating circle. Going round, the music brought them about so that gentlemen and ladies faced each other again, but this time with partners reversed.

“I’m so glad you decided to join us again,” Lilly babbled happily. “It’s so dull just to stand against the wall all evening, and besides, it’s only fair to show off the lovely bride we’ve all been waiting so long to see.”

Leo smiled indulgently. “My pleasure, Lady Pendragon. You are entirely too kind.”

The top of her head reaching somewhere between his shoulder and elbow, Lilly had to stretch slightly to take his hands in promenade. It occurred to her at last why the only other dance the Gallen’s had participated in had been for a single pair. Across the aisle of dancers, Percival had to rise on his toes to turn Lady Gallen under his arm. Only of middling height himself, he stood practically eye-to-eye with the elder knight, who was nearly as tall and as broad as he was.

“I confess, I did not expect to see either you or Leo here,” he remarked, turning her about. “I thought for sure you’d both prefer to hibernate through the winter.”

Lady Dancon smirked. “That’s us. A couple of crotchety old bears hiding in their cave.”

“Dancing bears, apparently. I never knew the two of you were so graceful- at least without deadly weapons in hand.”

She responded to the comment only with a good-natured shake of her head.

“Truly,” he told her, the teasing gleam vanishing from his eyes, “you look lovely. I’m very happy for you both.”

She returned the smile, an expression he’d seen only a handful of times on her face. “Thank you.”

The strangeness of it all hit him suddenly; like a blow unanticipated it struck him in a sensitive spot, shocking him to a standstill. Mercifully, the Training Mistress pulled him along, bringing him back to the present. If anyone noticed the brief catch to his steps, they gave no sign. Not so very long ago Dame Aurella would have been wearing a slightly dated dress uniform, no medals, no merits, just an axe belted at her side as she stood at the doorway or along the wall. It wasn’t the velvet gown, however, or even the jewels, so much as the fact that she was _here_. Right here. Dancing with him. That and she wasn’t trying to kill him with a blunt object. The montage of fond- and not so fond- memories of countless hours under her tutelage on the practise yard pulled his features into a smirk. Those memories were followed by others. Dame Aurella had been a strange point of refuge at Brass Castle, and to more than just him. Although she rarely smiled, and often seemed cross, her hand had always been there when he reached back. He owed her a debt that could never be paid, but he didn’t mind being beholden.

They had never been close, she was not a friend the way Borus or Leo or Roland were. He did not know her as a person, only as his teacher and as a fellow soldier- one who’d had it even harder than he had. He wondered what must have gone through her head as she watched him rise to the top while she and her sisters remained stranded at the bottom. He had wanted to repay her, but even as she’d given him a leg up, he could not in turn reach a hand to help her to follow. Indeed, she had warned him against it. Ever the faithful student, he had listened.

But things were different now, so different. How different everything would eventually become in the end would remain to be seen. Maybe different enough to… Automatically he clamped down on the thought, prepared to stamp it out as usual with all the viciousness needed to smother a grass fire. This time, however, he let it smolder. Was he not one of the High Command? Did he not have friends and allies that also called themselves the Six Mighty Knights? Or would he if they…?

Returning to earth, he joined the circle again, leading his teacher in promenade back to her husband. With some reluctance he dropped her hands and took up Lilly’s, bowing to her briefly before stepping forward. His expression must have slipped from its usual look of vague amusement, for Dame Aurella gave him a reassuring look. It was a curious, inverted expression; like the false smiles the councilmen wore, only in reverse. Although her lips never moved, the creases at the corners of her eyes gathered together as her cheekbones lifted. Perhaps because she seemed to scowl so often, the smile hidden in her eyes was all the more potent. Percival felt his own smile coming out to return it, though Lilly caught the full benefit as he turned to face her and bow over her hand as the dance ended.

Happily, he was able to hand her off to another dashing young dandy he didn’t recognize- probably some wealthy merchant’s son. Extricated from Lady Pendragon’s cheerful chatter, he hurried to follow the Gallens who were beating a hasty retreat toward the punch bowl.

“Lady Dancon?”

Both of them stopped and waited for him to catch up, but when he didn’t continue, Dame Aurella waved her husband on.

“Yes?”

Now that he had her alone, suddenly his voice didn’t want to work. Clearing his throat and swallowing hard, he summoned the dregs of his bravado and tried to force the words out like a man.

“If I could perhaps call on you? Just you? While you’re staying here in Vinay del Zexay?”

She tilted her head at him, unsure what he was asking.

“I’d like to catch up,” he pressed on. “I’d like to tell you a bit about my home. Iksay. And my family. And..my...um...my friend there.”

There. He’d said it- or as much as he dared to say in the middle of a crowded ballroom. At least nothing had come out falsetto. Her brows rose fractionally and her lips parted as realization dawned. The shock, however, quickly melted into one of the softest smiles he’d ever seen from her.

“Yes, of course. I’d be honored. The Harras’ have very kindly granted us the use of their second parlor. Please stop by any time.”

Percival let out a deep breath he hadn’t noticed until that moment that he’d been holding. “Wonderful. I look forward to it.”


	6. Escort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we see what the soldiers who aren't part of the High Command are doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last bit of [Murder On The Dance Floor](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1091771/chapters/2197530) by [Quicksilver_ink](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilver_ink) as witnessed by other characters. Huge thanks and kudos! <3

“Lord Minister,” Leo nodded politely at the elder statesman. Perriwigs, he felt, were a bit old-fashioned, but the Lord Minister played his role at all times. Tonight he was especially grand in his embroidered silk waistcoat and velvet jacket- both would have been dreadfully gaudy if they hadn’t been a surprisingly sedate shade of russet brown, a nod to Zexen’s national colors.

“I would like to introduce you to my wife, Lady Aurella Dancon.” Yes, it might be a bit outside of protocol to have a woman keep her name, but she was an officer as well as Lady of a manor. He’d checked and double-checked the etiquette book and it was entirely proper to introduce a fellow officer by her own name and title- even if you were married to them.

The Lord Minister did not nod, though he did smile and raise an eyebrow. “Dancon? Indeed. Was one name not enough?”

Leo blinked, unsure if he’d heard that correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Well, a man must sow his oats eventually, I suppose,” the Lord Minister went on in a conversational tone. “Still, I was unaware your strict moral code allowed consorting with whores.”

His fist reacted before his brain, coming up hard and fast under the Lord Minister’s jaw as if swinging his axe. The periwig went flying in one direction, the Lord Minister in another, crashing into an elegantly arranged pyramid of rum truffles and marzipan fruit. The noise registered several seconds later, the Lord Minister seeming to take an absurdly long time to land in a heap of dessert and silverware.

The Lord Minister managed remarkable poise and gravity for one coated in chocolate and powdered sugar. Wiping frosting from his face, he spat out a gold tooth.

“Apologize,” Leo commanded, keeping both hands at his sides in what he felt was an impressive display of restraint.

“I will not apologize for telling the truth.”

Grasping the velvet scabbard, he drew out the ceremonial sword. Letter opener no more, he had had the blade sharpened upon Aurella’s suggestion, though no one else knew this. Taking a step back, he leveled it at the Lord Minister.

“You _will_ apologize,” he growled, the deep bass notes rumbling like a gathering thunderstorm, as he pointed the sword at the Lord Minister, “or you will face me in a duel. You make the mistake, sir, of dishonoring both a Knight of Zexen and my wife. I will not stand for either.”

“Leo.”

He blinked at the hand on the arm that held the sword. Aurella stood at his elbow, an odd expression on her face.

“I can fight my own battles” She cast a disdainful glance at the chocolate-coated minister, and kicked the gold tooth back toward him “This one isn’t worth it.”

Her gentle tug on his sleeve achieved what several grown men could not, and he followed her mutely from the salon, re-sheathing the sword. He tried not to let the Lord Minister’s laughter grate on his nerves.

\--

Leo let himself be led away, grumbling oaths in his head as his wife pulled him along. His irritation, however, quickly flared to a controlled panic. In the ballroom, the partygoers had been pushed back against the walls in a thick ring. At the center stood two women and one man- Lady Chris, Lady Pendragon, and Lord Salome- a second man lay motionless on the floor.

“What in the name of Sadie?” he asked no one in particular. Shaking himself, Leo felt his many years of military training take over.

“All right, move over, let me through! I say, move it!” he demanded, elbowing his way through the wedge of onlookers.

“Leo,” Chris called, “you and Percival get everyone out of here but keep them for questioning. No one leaves without an interrogation. And someone get me a sword!”.

“Knew there was a reason I brought this thing,” he grumbled, offering the sword, sheath, and belt in both hands. “Just had the blade sharpened.”

Without further comment he went after Percival, the better to corral and question the assembled partygoers. Many of the liveried cadets and soldiers were already assisting. Without thought, Aurella joined them.

Several of the guests were trying to catch a glimpse of the carnage in the middle of the floor, but Aurella hustled them along. A few people had fainted, or were standing in shock while friends and family tried to comfort them. One such knot had two familiar faces: Lady Harras and her daughter. They had been near the edge of the crowd when it happened, and the skirt of the younger woman’s claret-colored gown was spritzed with darker splotches of blood.

“Miss Harras?” Aurella asked before reaching to lay a hand on the younger woman’s arm.

“Oh! Madam Gallen, I didn’t… didn’t see…” She swallowed hard, pale and shaking like a birch in autumn. Her mother, just as wide-eyed but with a much grimmer expression, tightened her arms around her daughter.

“Come over here with me, I know I saw some brandy on the table somewhere.” With a firm but gentle grip, she led them over to the refreshment table. The table with all the beverages had survived the Lord Minister’s misadventures unscathed. The punch bowl was still more than half-full, and several glasses of wine and champagne stood poured and waiting. Passing all of these, Aurella reached and poured out a small measure of brandy into one of the punch cups.

“Here, drink it,” she ordered. Dumbly, Miss Harras obeyed. She did her best to sip the strong liquor, but wound up gulping a too-large mouthful that left her coughing.

“Slowly,” her mother cautioned, gently pulling the glass away from her lips.

“Right. Yes.” Miss Harras gasped, apparently glad for something to focus on besides the corpse on the floor. “Can’t we go?” she begged. “I want to go.”

“Of course, dear,” her mother reassured her.

“Not without questioning,” Aurella put in. “You’ll have to make a statement to Lord Gallen or Sir Fraulein before we depart.”

“Oh yes, of course.” The comment was bland, but the pitch high and strained, as if the younger of the Harras women were fighting not to cry. Taking pity on her, Aurella steered mother and daughter toward the parlour where Leo and Percival were making the most of their own unique brand of questioning- Leo stood there looking surly with his arms crossed while Percival charmed every subject with his voice. Although it might appear Percival were the brains of the outfit, Leo would be taking mental notes all the while, examining each and every person from crown to toe, trying to spot something out of place.

“Leo?” she called, causing him to momentarily snap out of his practised scowl. Leaving Percival to finish with their current subject, he made his way over.

“I’m so sorry, but she’s had a bit of a shock,” Aurella apologized. “Please, can you take them next?”

“Of course,” he agreed, gently leading the Harras women over to the sofa that was being used as a sort of improvised dock. Aurella waited as Percival spoke to both women, his voice kind and patient as Leo stood by, his usual disapproving expression considerably softened. After a moment he handed both women back to her.

“Off you go, then,” he said kindly. “Don’t wait up.”

Aurella saw her hosts to the door and into their carriage before hoisting her skirts and climbing in after them. Both of the Harras women blinked at this, but made no remark. Slamming the door shut, Aurella signaled to the coachmen and the carriage rattled off.

“Thank you for coming with us,” Lady Harras spoke up, still cradling her daughter in her arms.

“I may not be in uniform, but I am still a knight. The best thing I can do is to see you get home safely.”

“Of course. We’ll all feel better after a hot bath, something warm to drink, and a good night’s sleep.”

“I agree. I doubt anyone will think to force your doors, what with three knights residing under one roof. Still, I would advise you to alert your footmen and other staff.”

“Yes of course,” Lady Harras agreed. “I’m sure the whole town will be on alert for the next fortnight.”

They rattled on in silence, Aurella becoming acutely aware that she’d left her fur-lined cloak back at the Guild Hall. After a brief eternity, they pulled up to the entrance of the Harras manor. Several footmen stood waiting for them, each with a lantern in hand.

“Please see to Miss Harras,” Aurella told them, ushering the two women toward the door. “She’s had quite a shock.”

Amid the “yes milady’s” and the sharp tones of command from Lady Harras, Aurella wadded up her skirts and hurried up the stairs to her rooms. She descended moments later, her axe buckled over her gown and Leo’s in her hands. Miss Harras had already been led away to her own room, but Lady Harras remained in the foyer, giving instructions to her assembled staff. Her expression was one of only mild surprise.

“You aren’t staying?” she asked.

“No, I must go back and see to things. I’ll likely be wanted as a witness or chaperone or something else. Do you know where your son keeps his mace?”

“Friedrich,” she turned and named a servant who immediately darted up the stairs.

Lady Harras nodded. “I thought as much. If you learn anything, do let me know. And please don’t hesitate to ask if there is anything I can do to help.”

“I will.”

Friedrich reappeared, Lord Harras’ heavy mace in his hands. Aurella took it, hefting both much heavier weapons over one shoulder. “Will you and Miss Harras be alright?”

Lady Harras nodded. “Yes. Nothing rest and nourishment won’t cure. Off you go, then. Mind nothing else happens.”

Aurella couldn’t help a small smile before heading back out the door. “It won’t.”


	7. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn of old wounds and deep scars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Mentions of sexual assault, rape, and general mean-spiritedness. Not graphic, but it is there.

It was late indeed by the time Leo was able to leave the Lightfellow home and Aurella the bloodied ballroom. So late, in fact, that it was early. Aurella did not say anything during the carriage ride back to the Harras house. Leo did not blame her. What with threatening the Lord Minister and then neglecting his duties toward Lady Chris and Lady Pendragon, he’d acted an atrocious fool.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a long silence. When his wife did not look up, he went on. “I’m sorry I lost my temper, that I let that oaf get the better of me. He distracted me when I should have been watchful. Forgive me for embarrassing you?”

“Embarrassing me?” Aurella echoed, sounding confused.

“Yes. I should not have reacted the way I did. If I hadn’t, perhaps their Ladyships would still be in one piece.”

“Don’t take all the credit, I helped too,” she teased. “I’m sorry myself, if it comes to it. I should have seen it, but neither of us were in uniform. We were not there as guards. It was not our fault alone that things fell out as they did. Little more was ruined than a couple of fine gowns, and it’s only lace and fabric. No one wears the cursed things more than once anyway. ”

Leo nodded, turning her words over in his head. “I should not have hit the Lord Minister.”

“I can’t say I didn’t enjoy that, though it was a waste of good cake.”

“He should not have said that about you.”

Aurella shrugged and looked out the window. “I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Leo couldn’t help the defensive tone or the scowl that accompanied it.

“May we not speak of this?” she said rather sharply. Leo at once felt chastened.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized again. She shook her head.

“Forget it. It’s done and overwith. Put it out of your head.”

She did not wait for either himself or the coachman to help her down, but pushed past them both and headed briskly up the wide stone steps of Salome’s family home. Only by quickening his pace considerably did Leo manage to draw even with her, but she did not slow her stride. Without looking to the right or to the left she hurried up the staircase, down the hall and into the little side-chamber of the guest bedroom that the maid called a “boudoir”. Leo was not a little surprised when she shut the door in his face.

“....Aurella?”

“Give me a moment,” she called from the other side of the thick wooden door. “Let me get out of this infernal dress.”

There was the clink of metal as she tossed jewels back into their case, a rustle of thick fabric as she and her squire contended with the yards of velvet. With nothing better to do, Leo began extricating himself from his own finery. Reduced to shirt and breeches, he tapped softly on the door again.

“Aurella?”

There was no answer. He thought about teasing, about asking if she were decent, but decided against it. Now didn’t seem quite the time.

“Dearest, are you alright?”

Again, a long pause.

“...may I come in?”

In answer, the door unlatched and swung inward perhaps an inch. There was only one other small door that led to a servant’s stair as well as a narrow, rectangular window set into the far wall. No moon shone through the diamond-leaded glass. Instead, the only light came from the candle lamp perched on the old-fashioned dressing table. Aurella sat before it in only her chemise and stays. Without the heavy jewels and dark gown, she looked strangely young and small. The expression reflected in the age-dotted looking glass was tight and sad, as if she were struggling not to cry.

“What is it?” he asked, sinking down on one knee and placing a massive arm around her. One sleeve, he noticed, had slipped off her shoulder. With thumb and forefinger, he carefully pulled it back up. The painful expression collapsed at this and she hid her face in his shoulder.

“Dearest…” He didn’t know what else to say. Drawing her close, he held her, unsure if he ought to do something different. She wasn’t crying exactly, but there was a tension in her posture, a tightness in her arms and back. She was upset, but she wasn’t about to let him see.

“Over thirty years,” she murmured into his shoulder. “I thought I’d forgotten and then…” She sighed and hugged him briefly before straightening. “Nevermind.”

“No,” Leo told her, soft yet firm. “I won’t have you hide from me. Please, tell me, what is it?”

“Just foolishness and old scars,” she told him with false carelessness.

“Old wounds can still hurt,” he reminded her. Reluctantly, she nodded.

“They can at that.”

“Won’t you tell me what’s troubling you?”

She shook her head. “It’s not important.”

“Isn’t it? It’s clearly bothering you. I’d like to help, if I may.”

“There’s nothing to be done. It happened a lifetime ago. No one would believe it. They didn’t then, and they certainly wouldn’t now.”

“Believe what?”

Aurella lifted her face to look up at him, eyes distant. “You know that gold tooth the Lord Minister wears?”

“Yes.”

“I did that.”

Leo blinked. “You did? Why?”

“Because he wouldn’t listen. I’d told him to leave off, but he wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. So I hit him. But there were three of them and one of me. I got one good kick in before…”

She trailed off and shrugged. “You knew you weren’t getting a pretty young maid when you married me.”

“Are you saying….?” For some reason his brain had become very sluggish, taking an absurdly long time to analyse what she’d said. Aurella nodded.

“What hope did I have for a beau? How could I even dare to think of such a thing when so many people were watching my every move, waiting for me to make a mistake so they could throw me out? Besides, who would ever look at me? Young people will have their foolishness, but I did not ask for what he did.”

“He forced himself on you?” Leo whispered, gagging on the taste of the words.

“He forced himself on me,” Aurella repeated. “Him and two others, they each took their turn. It wasn’t just me either. There were other women, other soldiers that were attacked.”

“And you never said anything?”

She shook her head and shrugged. “Who would believe us?”

“Who were they? Who did this to you?”

Casting her eyes down, she thought a moment. “Mostly noblemen’s sons, too full of themselves to realize they couldn’t take favor where it would not be given. I don’t know about the other women, but I can name the three who came after me: the Lord Minister, obviously, the Vice-Chancellor of the Keys, and the Council’s Second-Clerk.”

“They will pay,” Leo vowed, but the pained expression had stolen over Aurella’s face again.

“Please don’t,” she begged. “It’s over and done with. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“No,” he insisted, “it isn’t. And it does.”

\--

Anger followed Sir Leo about like a storm cloud, casting his face in shadow. This would not do, this absolutely WOULD NOT do. To think such terrible things had happened in Brass Castle, among the young cadets, to HIS WIFE. He fumed silently, causing a knot of squires to bolt and scatter in his wake. One might assume that he would choose to excorsize his rage at the Guild Hall practise yard, but instead he headed for the archives and the shelf that held the military records. Aurella’s class had been about seven years before his own. It was easy enough to find the tome that bore all the names of those who had served alongside her; a double handful of daughters thrown in with countless sons. There were many names to copy down, but he bid the young scribe whom he assigned the laborious task not to miss a single one. He wanted to have everything that he might need committed to paper when the time came. The only problem was, how to bring that time about?

Aurella had seemed strangely reluctant to repeat her story to anyone. Although it clearly bothered her, she seemed determined to try to bury the incident as she had for years, forcing it out of her head with other concerns. He wished he could get her to confide in Lady Chris. She was sure to understand, and would probably be as outraged as he was.

Perhaps some of the other women who had been knighted along with her might share their secret? There had been seventeen, now only nine remained on active duty. According to the register, three more had retired, and the rest were dead either by battle, illness, or age. Surely they would want justice to be done?

No, it seemed, they did not.

None of the others still in service wanted to talk to him. One had even asked if she were being interrogated. He supposed she had a fair point. Being questioned about unpleasant and personal things by a senior officer probably had come off as a trifle heavy-handed. Resolved to be more tactful of the whole affair, he attempted to defer to his wife.

“Let it go,” she told him bluntly.

“I will not!” he retorted, indignant. “What happened to you and the others was a _crime_. A crime that has gone unpunished for over thirty years! These men must be brought to justice!”

“Why?” she demanded sharply. “Why drag them and us to court to be mocked and ridiculed yet again? What will it prove? That they are lying bastards? We know that already. What will it accomplish? Do you want to strip them of their rank? Their position? Tear apart their families? What good will it do us? What good will it do _me_?”

He blinked, taken aback by her tirade. “Aurella…”

“Let it go,” she repeated. “I am asking you as a fellow officer, I am _telling_ you as your wife: Let. It. Go.”

There was no way he could argue with that.

\--

Aurella did not speak to him after that. It was, Leo felt, no more than he deserved. Although as the day went on, he realized her silence was not caused by anger; or at least that anger was not directed solely at him. She was annoyed with him, certainly; frustrated by his inability to comprehend her side of things, but he was not her primary source of aggravation. Ordinarily he would have begged her forgiveness and asked as to how he might make amends, but silence seemed the wisest course this time. Although it pained him to hold his tongue, he was certain she would forgive him when she was ready.

Still, the darkening of moods had not gone unnoticed. Percival chided him about ‘trouble in paradise’ and Borus had the nerve to suggest he pen a poem in apology. Fortunately Roland had arrived just then and spared the two younger knights from having their heads knocked together. It was difficult to concentrate on the holiday backlog of forms and documents, diplomatic letters and counselor’s petitions. He gave all papers stamped with the Lord Minister’s seal to Salome, not trusting himself not to wad them up and hurl them into the fire.

What good _would_ come of it? Was there even a case to make? Any evidence left to be gathered? It was a crime thirty years cold, and its only victims unwilling to break their silence. Although the other knights of Aurella’s class had since been granted names and rank, they seemed no less paranoid of their station. He supposed he couldn’t really blame them. Still, the knowledge of the brutality that had occurred under this very roof without knowledge or punishment made his blood boil. What if such a thing had happened to little Felicia? Or for that matter Louis? Violence did not necessarily limit itself to one gender. No, something would certainly have to be done, but for the life of him, he could not think what.

“Something on your mind, Sir Leo?”

Salome’s impassive voice cut into his swirling thoughts.

“I’m sorry Salome,” he apologized, “I am somewhat distracted today.”

“Indeed,” he nodded at Leo’s clenched fingers and the snapped quill between them. “May I be of help?”

With a sigh, Leo shook his head. “I’m not sure. I’ve recently learned of something very distressing that happened here at Brass Castle some years ago.” At Salome’s raised eyebrow, he went on. “A crime was committed. A capital crime, but it’s been so long, I am unsure how to proceed.”

“May I ask what was the offense?”

The others were listening now, Lady Chris with her head tilted to one side. Leo shook his head. “I would rather not say until I have more information- if there is any to be had. I would, however, be grateful of your counsel should more facts come to light.”

Salome nodded. “Of course.”

\--

Leo did not see Aurella for the rest of the day. Their respective offices and duties kept them apart much of the time at Brass Castle, but being married as well as commanding officers afforded certain privileges and they were usually able to spend the evenings together. However, the meeting with the council had run almost an hour late, and had been unable to sit at table with her for supper. Upon his return to their suite in the Harras’ house, he found tea as well as his wife waiting for him. Bread and cheese had also been set out, a sure sign that Aurella had prepared the food herself. Unlike her husband, she had no taste for sweets. She served them both in silence, no longer angry, but still unwilling to talk. Leo, determined not to upset her further, continued to hold his peace. Not until they had lain down and drawn the curtains about them did Aurella turn and bury her face in his shoulder, snugging her arms around him. Leo let out a sigh and hugged her in return, knowing he was forgiven.

“I’m sorry, love.”

“Don’t be.”


	8. Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aurella expresses trust, and Madam Gallen fails to express the seriousness of some allegations.

“I’d like to apologize again, Lady Gallen, for the other day.” Lady Dieterich set her teacup on its saucer. “If I had known, I never would have offered.”

Aurella gave her guest an only slightly strained smile. “No one knew, Lady Dieterich. If I’d known myself I would have declined.”

“I had Cook give the rest of that week’s milk to the pigs just to be safe. I’m only glad no one else became ill.”

“I doubt it was the milk,” Aurella commented, vaguely horrified at such waste. “I’m used to much simpler fare.”

“Really?” the other woman’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I should have thought your husband would be able to provide an excellent table.”

“He is, but we’re both soldiers. Few would consider hard tack and corned beef a delicacy.”

Lady Dieterich wrinkled her nose. “No, indeed!”

“As I said, don’t concern yourself about it. It was an accident. Let’s not speak of it any longer.”

“Very well,” Lady Dieterich nodded, accepting a second cup of tea. “I heard you were in the military. How long did you serve?”

“Twenty-eight years; I’m still active duty,” Aurella replied calmly, refilling her own cup. She offered a napkin to Lady Dieterich who had chosen the wrong moment to swallow.

“You haven’t retired?”

“No, why should I?”

Lady Dieterich sat silent for a moment, struggling to come up with a variety of reasons, many of which she usually listed off to her daughters when they suggested something hare-brained.

“I’m entirely too old to have children,” Aurella began, as if reading the list in Lady Dieterich’s mind. “I have no lands or properties to worry about, no family that needs looking after. I’m a commanding officer. Why should I give up a career that has only just reached its zenith?”

“I see,” Lady Dieterich replied rather blankly. “I am given to understand that there was some sort of oversight concerning your knighting, am I correct?”

Aurella nodded. “That is true.”

Her guest stirred her tea, visibly attempting to calculate in her head. “I believe that would make you contemporaries with my dear husband.”

“It would, yes.”

“It’s strange he never mentioned you. I’ll have to ask him about it.”

It was Aurella’s turn to choke on her tea. “Not at all,” she managed after a brief fit of coughing. “I doubt he remembers. I was only one of a number of women at the time. Our interaction was limited.”

“True, he didn’t make a career out of the military the way you have. Still, it all worked out in the end, didn’t it.”

“Oh yes,” Aurella agreed through gritted teeth. “It did.”

\--

“How does one accept half a social invitation?”

Lady Harras looked up from her correspondence, bemused. “I beg your pardon?”

“Lady Dieterich wants Leo and I to attend supper next week. I can’t do it.”

“Whyever not? Surely you’re not still upset about the chocolate?”

“No, of course not,” Aurella waved the remark away. “Only…”

“Only what?”

“I can’t stand her husband.”

Lady Harras took in the sudden frown that had appeared on the younger woman’s face. “Lord Dieterich isn’t bad as councilmen go. Surely one evening wouldn’t hurt? It would be best to accept every council member’s invitation that you can.”

“I know,” she said crossly, beginning to pace. “I like his wife well enough, though Goddess knows what she sees in him.”

“I believe her parents saw a title and a large income,” Lady Harras remarked dryly. Aurella’s pacing stopped for a moment. She shook her head in something like disgust.

“I should have known.”

“What’s in back of all this? Why should the husband bother you and not the wife? I confess I’d have thought as a military person you’d have the opposite problem.”

The pacing stopped leaving Aurella with her back to the desk, staring out the window. Hands resting on the sill, she contemplated the street outside for a long moment.

“I knew Lord Dieterich as a student,” she began. “We...didn’t get along.”

Lady Harras tilted her head to one side, confused. “Meaning?”

Exhaling through her nose, Aurella turned to face her. “Leo would call it a matter of honor. It was more than just children playing pranks. I cannot sit at table with a man who wished me public disgrace.”

“I take it this went rather beyond the traditional hazing.”

“A bit,” Aurella agreed tartly. “His family once had mine at a significant disadvantage.”

“And you’ve never been able to forgive him.”

“It’s the other way round, actually. He never forgave me.”

Lady Harras blinked. “Whatever did you do to him?”

“I exist,” Aurella shrugged. “No one wanted a pack of girls in ranks, least of all a lot of common wenches.”

Lady Harras’ eyebrows rose slightly at the vulgarity.

“Oh come, don’t pretend you’re shocked,” Aurella went on. “I know what was said about us, and what’s still being said. Yes, we were been born common, but that meant our honor was the dearest thing we had. No one was foolish enough to throw away such a chance to better ourselves.”

“Excuse me,” Lady Harras inclined her head a few degrees. “I did not intend to lay blame. For what it’s worth, _I_ no longer believe such ridiculous gossip.”

“But you did once.” It was not a question.

“I did,” the older woman nodded, “but not anymore. I know better now. I hope you will forgive me?”

It was Aurella’s turn to nod. “Thank you.”

The sincerity in her voice felt painful to Lady Harras. How lonely it must have been for a woman surrounded by a literal army of men who did not want her among them.

“Would you think me rude to inquire about the circumstances of your disagreement?”

For a long moment Aurella said nothing, only turned to face the window once more. Admitting she’d crossed a line, Lady Harras opened her mouth to apologize again when Aurella spoke.

“No one likes to recite the details of a defeat,” the knight began. “In the beginning, no one really saw us as fellow soldiers. They thought of us as maids, servants in armor, and treated us as such. We were no more than an extension of the women who scrubbed floors and emptied chamber pots. But we had one advantage over the serving women; we could fight back.”

Lady Harras said nothing, fearful of breaking the spell of Aurella’s words. Back still turned, she went on, voice flattened to a grim monotone.

“It was not the first time I was solicited. It was not the first time I had to drive home my point with my fist. None of them could understand why we refused them. There were a few who took what they wanted anyway.”

The silence in the study hung heavy and charged. Lady Harras sat very still, as if the slightest movement might trigger a spark. Slowly the words filtered through her ears to her brain. Had she heard correctly? Was she interpreting this strange speech right? Surely Lady Dancon could not mean… And if she _did_ , why confess so to her?

“That is how he squared your debt?” she asked, her own voice curiously flat in her own ears.

Slowly, deliberately, Aurella turned around. Face a perfect mask of blankness, she leaned back against the windowsill.

“Him and two others.”

Lady Harras gawped.

“My dear…” she began before her words dried up. For a long moment they simply stared at one another, neither knowing what to say. Her first thought was that Lady Dancon was lying. Her second; why should she invent such an incredible story? Her third, why share such information after so much time had gone by? To confess such a personal assault had taken tremendous courage. Any other woman- including herself- would have taken her terrible secret to her grave. The foolishness of youth was one thing, having one’s virtue stolen by force was quite another. There had been rumors in her youth concerning Aurella and her sisters-in-arms. They had been purported to be loose women, tramps despoiling the young men of privilege within the army. Any woman with half a brain, however, would know such rumors to be untrue. There was many a chambermaid in the wealthy households of Zexen who knew too well the situation of those female knights. Perhaps a woman entering the military might anticipate the possibility of such a thing happening to her, but that seemed wrong somehow. Had Aurella wanted or deserved such treatment? Somehow, Lady Harras did not think that had been the case. Furthermore, she had claimed not one, not two, but _three_ assailants. Did such things happen? She did not want to believe it, but Aurella’s stone-like features insisted otherwise.

“Why do you tell me your secrets?” Lady Harras asked, feeling helpless. “What can I do?”

Aurella shrugged, her face still an impassive mask. “You asked. You’ve been kind to me, which is much more than I expected of anyone. I trust you, and I don’t know what to do. I was hoping you might.”

Lady Harras heartily wished that she did.

\--

This was more than a matter of simple etiquette, this was a matter of personal pride. Although she had no proof of the validity of Lady Dancon’s remarkable allegations, she had no reason to doubt them either. The original crime had taken place at Brass Castle, and so it was also a matter of military discipline. While he would not need to know the details, her son, she felt, ought to be made aware that such scurrilous actions might be taking place right under his very nose. Besides which, she had a number of other things she wanted to discuss with him and it was difficult to corner him for more than a few minutes the rare moments when he was at home.

“Salome?”

Having just closed the door behind him, her son stood in the foyer in the act of removing his coat and scarf. White particles fell from the garments and clung to his boots, forming an icy puddle on the mat. Apparently it had begun snowing outside.

“If I may have a word?”

“Can it wait?” he asked, a weary edge to his voice. Lady Harras was reminded that much of his time away from home had been spent arguing with the Council about one thing or another. Not much of a holiday by anyone’s standards.

“I’m afraid it’s rather important,” she pressed, hoping to hook his curiosity. “It won’t take long.”

Hopping a bit to get out of his boots, any sigh of resignation he might have given went unnoticed.

“Alright, just a moment.”

“Thank you, dear.” She didn’t retreat far, only enough to be sure that he would follow her into the parlor. One of the servants was lighting a few candles since the snowstorm had darkened the sky, making the room dim and cold.

“What is it, mother?” he asked, not sitting down. Ordinarily she and her children did not stand on ceremony when in each other’s company. Standing was a mark of his impatience to be about his own business, not deference to her rank as matriarch and head of the household.

“Won’t you sit down?” she asked, gesturing to his favorite chair. “I’m afraid I have something rather shocking to tell you.” Despite pondering it all day, just _how_ she was going to tell him, she still had no idea.

Obediently, Salome sank into the chair, but retained his military posture, sitting ramrod straight rather than relaxing into the overstuffed upholstery. Evidently he was eager to be gone. Well, if he wanted to address the problem as a Lieutenant-General, perhaps a straight-forward approach was best.

“It has come to my attention that something rather...unsavory has happened at Brass Castle.”

He closed his eyes, though she could see his eyeballs roll behind them. “Have you indeed?”

“Yes. A very good friend of mine mentioned…”

“Mother, I really don’t have time for gossip.”

“Salome don’t whine, I’m trying to tell you something very important.”

Breath huffed out his nostrils in obvious annoyance. Lady Harras scowled back at her son. Really, one would think he was still fourteen instead of nearly forty. The Harras stubborn streak could be useful, but it could also be maddening.

“Then please tell me what it is.”

If only it were so easy. Contemplating her lap for a moment, Lady Harras tried to sort out how to expose the crime but not the victim. She dare not betray Lady Dancon’s confidence, and she lacked the nerve to explain what had happened in the necessarily bald and vulgar terms such transgressions deserved. When she looked up again, her son was watching her more intently than he had been. He had noticed her distress, and seemed to be on the verge of seeing her concern as more than just a mother’s endless worrying. Not knowing what else to do or say, she took a deep breath.

“I was told by a reliable source, that there may be some very untoward behaviour occurring amongst the cadets.”

Salome tried not to sigh. “That’s always the case with adolescents. We enforce the curfew and have the Sergeant-Captains check the haylofts on a regular basis. Beyond that...” he shrugged. “Boys will be boys.”

Lady Harras frowned. Given his father’s misbehavior, she had not expected her son to take such an attitude. Then again, there had been that brief romance with Lady Geisel… Oh dear.

“I did not expect to hear that from _you_ , Salome Harras,” she said frostily. “Have you no concern for the women under your care? Has my suffering meant nothing?”

Salome was nonplussed. “The girls are more discreet, but-”

“I am not talking about...about…” she gave a frustrated groan. Shifting in her chair, she mirrored her son’s painfully upright posture and stared him straight in the eye. “I am not talking about canoodling sweethearts,” she began, steeling herself against what must be said. “I am talking about young men taking advantage of young women who do not have the power or ability to defend themselves.”

Salome ran a hand through his hair, clearly distracted. “Mother, if you’re going to join the chorus calling for the abolishment of women soldiers, I’m not going to listen to you. Serving under a woman does not in any way threaten or diminish my honor.” he shook his head. “You were at the ball. I know you saw the assassination attempt. Women are perfectly capable of being soldiers and defending themselves and others.”

“That’s another thing,” she went on, remembering suddenly. “Just what _are_ your intentions concerning Lady Lightfellow? Better than those of Lady Giesel, I hope?”

Salome’s face hardened in outrage, and his mouth moved, silently, for several minutes as he sought to form some sort of response. Finally he stood. “Never again question my loyalty to my Lady Captain,” he hissed, and marched out of the room.

\--


	9. Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are flashbacks, and Percival confides a secret of his own.

“The hell is this?”

The words weren’t angry, so much as perplexed. Percival looked up sharply, breath trapped and burning in his lungs at the sight of the tall figure silhouetted in the stable door with a pitchfork in one hand. Flint sparked and a lantern light flickered to life. He couldn’t move, he was frozen to the spot, as was his partner.

The figure advanced, the strangely bemused face of the training master coming into shadowy view. Dame Aurella. Now more than ever, Percival was certain he was going to die. Or be dishonorably discharged. Or both. It didn’t particularly matter which happened first. She looked at him, then the other boy for a long moment. Her features creased, forming her familiar scowl. Oh yes. Death was coming first, most certainly.

“What is this?” she asked again.

Both of them gawped stupidly, unable to force words from their gaping mouths. After a moment, however, everything came out in a rush.

“Dame Aurella--”

“I can explain--”

“It wasn’t--”

“It’s not what--”

“Enough.”

They both fell silent. A cold drop of sweat slid down Percival’s back. He swallowed hard, fighting the irrational urge to burst into tears.

“I don’t care,” she said, her voice remarkably soft.

“....you don’t?” he choked around the lump in his throat, astonishment momentarily overtaking his fear.

“No,” she repeated, “I don’t. I don’t care what you do on your own time, but other people will. Keep it to yourselves, alright?”

They both blinked at her, unsure if they had heard that correctly.

“So we’re not…?”

“In trouble?” She eyed them both narrowly, as if sizing them up for inspection. “Nothing’s happened. I see no reason to report either of you. Now back to barracks, both of you, or I will have to report you for breaking curfew.”

\--

It was hard, Percival realized, to have a life outside the army. Only those of high enough rank seemed to be able to afford both the time and the trappings for such a thing. As a squire and footsoldier, one ate, slept, bathed, and breathed the army. He had friends, though not many. Most of the other young men had belles either in the city or back home. Quite a few had a sweetheart among the Castle staff, and one or two adventurous souls were even making eyes at a few of the female recruits. After his one disastrous attempt at courtship, however, Percival decided that an office relationship was not something he needed in his life. He didn’t want to be alone, but there didn’t seem to be anything for it.

“There’s nothing to be done,” his Sergeant-Captain had shrugged. “To many, the army is the only family they will ever have. It certainly is to me. Don’t take on so. You aren’t the first and you won’t be the last.”

There was a disconcerting amount of truth to that. Dame Aurella was a spinster herself, quite an old lady in his eyes and still a maiden. All too familiar with it himself, Percival did not believe the gossip spread about the common soldiers. Determined to at least be well-liked, he did his best to make as many friends as possible. There would, at least, always be someone to talk to.

\--

With knighthood came a name and a title, if not necessarily the property to go with it. Although, his family did own several acres in Iksay, so _technically_ he was landed gentry now too. Or he would be, if his brothers bothered to share. With families of their own to think of one day, they might not feel so inclined. He supposed it didn’t really matter. He’d chosen a military career over agriculture, and knights generally didn’t do their own farming.

“ _Homegrown tomatoes, homegrown tomatoes  
What'd life be without homegrown tomatoes?  
Only two things that money can't buy  
That's true love and homegrown tomatoes…_”

Percival smiled at the snatch of tuneless song. Barts had long been trying to raise tomatoes in the small patch of earth near the windmill. Although the viney fruits were supposed to be idiot-proof, they never seemed to want to grow in Iksay. Something to do with the soil, or perhaps the climate, he supposed. Barts, however, seemed determined to have an impressive crop of tomatoes before the summer was over. If anyone could do it, it would probably be him. He’d spent all season going over the same bit of land, adding mulch and manure, turning and treading the soil, and of course, removing any debris like rocks and tree roots. Although there was always work to be done on a farm, there were a total of sixteen members of the extended Fraulein clan (a name they were less than happy about). If one man went over to help his neighbor who otherwise toiled alone, well, who could lay fault with that?

Like many farmers, Barts tended to choose function over fashion, and therefore frequently dug his field dressed like a beggared pirate. Percival didn’t mind. Barts was at home among the earth and dung, the weeds and roots of the black soil of Iksay. It was monotonous work and hard, but familiar, and somehow less exhausting when he worked his neighbor’s field and not his own. It was a refreshment of spirit that had nothing to do with the much smaller size of the plot. There was a joy and a determination that went into Barts’ crops, and less of the panic associated with feeding a large family, or the desperation to turn surplus into cash. Barts was a bachelor without parents or siblings. If he starved, he starved alone. Well, not alone. If his tomato crop failed, Percival mentally vowed he would help.

As it turned out, Barts would need no rescue. All his labor, all his toil, brought literal fruit. The tomatoes came up huge and red by mid-summer, a wonder and a blessing to a town that lived on its produce. Barts became king of Iksay that year, with Percival as his beaming viceroy. There had been many toasts drunk in his honor at the midsummer festival. Ever the chivalrous knight, Percival had walked Barts back to the tumbledown shack he called a cottage. If by “walked” one meant “each leaning heavily on the other in order to remain upright”. They’d both been profoundly drunk, straight lines and military posture long out of the question. One look at the dusty, unkempt interior and they’d decided at once to instead sleep under the stars.

“They’re beautiful, ain’t they?” Barts had slurred, gazing lovingly at his tomato plot. Percival, however, was looking at something else.

“You’re beautiful.” The words escaped before he’d even realized they’d been formed. Barts laughed.

“You’re drunk!”

“So’re you. An’ you _are_ beautiful,” Percival insisted, and leaned close. Maybe it was the booze, or the the giddiness of success, but Barts did not pull away as expected.

“No, you are.” And this time it was Bars who closed the distance. Tears and laughter struggled inside him, unable to find a way out of Percival’s bursting chest. Unable to do anything else, he reached and clung to his friend, as if by physical force he could prove that this was real.

“Not here,” Barts mumbled into his mouth. He stood unsteadily, dragging Percival with him into the nearby cornfield.

The circumstances were very different from what he’d imagined they might be, but everything else was perfect. More perfect than he could have hoped. On the surface they might look like drunken, groping teenagers, but inside… Inside, he wasn’t alone anymore. Inside, someone cared. There was no judgement, no fear, just the two of them. Together.

It was more than worth the hangover.

Wisely, Barts kept the miraculous secret of his cultivation to himself, not even sharing it with Percival. It was the one thing he kept from him, just as Barts was the one thing Percival kept from everyone else. If anyone knew- and he didn’t think they did- they didn’t say anything. His family seemed content to let him drift to one side, into Barts’ growing farm and out of their own. Maybe they did know, and in their way, were providing him with an out? Either way, leave became precious as it had never been before, and return trips to the castle disheartening in a way that made him wonder that a person could feel so much.

For his part, Barts wrote him short letters full of charming absurdities such as “the tomatoes send their love”. Indeed the tomatoes became a personality all their own, offering insights on the weather, the goings on in town, and their opinions on Barts’ farming skill. Percival, not to be outdone, began returning replies to the tomatoes under his horse’s name. Hessian certainly had enough personality to compose a letter, even if he lacked the thumbs with which to actually do so. It was a ridiculous sort of code, but it worked well enough for their purposes. Now, almost every time Percival saw a tomato, he smiled.

\--

As a knight, Percival had known fear, had known panic, had felt blind rage take over and his vision stain crimson when he’d been pushed beyond reason. This was the first time he’d felt despair. Iksay, his home, was burning. The Lizards, mercifully, had set fire to the houses and not the barns, perhaps hoping to collect spoils? Either way, it made his job simpler in one respect.

“Barts! Get everyone up to the hills! Move!”

Shouldering his hoe, Barts saluted as if he were a junior officer and not a farmer. He took off at a run, hammering on doors and smashing windows, doing his best to get everyone out of the village before the fire overwhelmed them. Percival followed suit, doing his best to round everyone up. The patriarchs of the various families soon came to their aid, carrying the elderly and infirm as well as children too small to walk. There was no time to save possessions, only lives, and he had to be rather firm with a few who tried to cart too many heirlooms with them. As long as the wind held, hopefully the damage would be contained. The clash of iron on iron made him stop and turn. Lady Chris and two others stood holding off a group of Lizards. Hurriedly shooing the last of the stragglers up the hill, he ran back to help them.

\--

There wasn’t time to stay and clean up. At once they were called back, and Percival barely had time to count heads let alone inquire as to anyone’s individual safety. His family- Goddess be praised- was all accounted for and, aside from a few bumps and bruises, generally unharmed.

“Has anyone seen Barts?” he asked, since his friend’s soot-smudged face had not been among those gathered on the hill.

“He was trying to keep the Lizards away from the tomato patch,” his mother said quietly. “He never came up.”

Percival could feel individual ice crystals forming in his gut as he hurried back into the smoldering town. Barts’ little plot of land had been near one of the smaller mills, on the leeward side of the hill. However, when he got there, all that was left was a trampled mess of blood, mud, and vegetable pulp. All of Barts’ tools lay scattered and broken, his tumble-down cottage reduced to ash. He stood for a long moment, frozen, his brain refusing to accept facts. No. No this could not have happened. Surely Barts was alive somewhere? Surely he had survived?

Barts was tough, he reminded himself with every step of his horse’s hooves as they made their way back to Brass Castle. Barts was smart as well as brave. He would have known when to cut his losses and run like hell. Not even for his precious tomatoes would he have sacrificed his life. At least, Percival didn’t _think_ he would. He hoped he wouldn’t.

\--

The others left him be when he’d said he was worried that his best friend had been killed during the Iksay raid. While Leo was usually the second-to-last to speak (the very last being Roland), he was quieter than usual on the ride to a derelict manor house that fancied itself a castle. Who in their right mind would name an estate “Budehuc” anyway? Apparently the same people who put teenagers in charge. He felt bad for the kid, really, but there was nothing any of them could do. The council had made their decision, damn them. Life was about to get very difficult for Thomas and all his tenants.

Saddlesore and restless, Percival decided a walk might be in order. Besides, he might as well take the chance to look around. It wasn’t likely he’d ever be sent back here. The sun rested low, just touching the horizon like a crystal ball in its frame. Its warm, fading light cast long black shadows across the castle grounds, making dark hiding places out of the many cozy corners.

There were fields here, though they seemed rough, as if this was the first time they’d been cultivated in ages. Fallow fields, if left too long, returned to nature and this one bore all the signs of neglect: countless weeds, bits of rubbish, and even some small trees. However, someone was apparently hard at work trying to restore the order of a garden to the wild fields. There were a number of heavily repaired tools leaning against a garden shed along with a hoe that looked practically new by comparison.

Wait.

A thick shadow stood among the narrower shapes of a vineyard trellis. Marching straight over to it, Percival became more certain with every step. The dusty tow linen overalls, the fleece-lined jacket, the unkempt ponytail beneath the black bandanna. The familiar smell of earth and man confirmed it, and Percival didn’t need to look at the surprised features of the other man’s face as he clamped a hand on his shoulder and turned him round.

“Percy!”

“Barts.”

It wasn’t much of a welcome speech, but the bone-crushing hug said all that needed to be said. Percival found himself struggling against the threat of tears, choking on the knot that had suddenly risen in his throat. Only now did he realize how scared he’d been. But Barts was there, strong, and solid; warm and real. He wasn’t imagining this. Nerves finally beginning to settle, he stepped back. The display of affection could be explained away, but the hug didn’t feel like enough. There was more to be said. Despite the rapidly fading light, Barts’ eyes searched his face, able to read his expression.

“Not here.”

Of course. Giving himself a mental slap, Percival nodded. There were too many people, too many watchful eyes and wagging tongues. Then of course, there was Leo. Goddess. Well, at least Barts was safe. That was more than enough reason to be grateful.

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a corn field?” Percival asked, more to tease than anything. Barts didn’t blush, but offered a lopsided grin.

“I got a vineyard. Will that do?”

Percival shrugged. “You tell me.”

“It’ll do,” Barts confirmed, all but dragging him off by the arm.

\--

Percival hadn’t been so excited or so nervous since standing vigil for his knighting ceremony. He’d been to the Harras’ home several times, but usually in the company of one of the other knights. This time, he came alone and out of uniform. Normally he went about Vinay del Zexay in uniform, back at home in Iksay he usually wore work clothes. Borus had teased him about his “town attire” and his slight overabundance of flashy garments. He liked to think he’d acquired some sense of style over the years. The buttons on his coat were brass, not silver, and had been allowed to tarnish somewhat. Further, he had taken care that the colors of his clothes were more sedate, his jacket a deep forest green and his breeches a warm brown.

The Harras’ butler showed him to the smaller parlor where Dame Aurella- Lady Dancon, he reminded himself- sat waiting. It was still strange to see her dressed like a woman. Although the simple riding habit lacked the visual slap that the ball gown had carried, he still found it odd to see her in skirts. Then again, seeing Lady Chris in skirts still threw him a bit, so perhaps the fault was in his own sensibilities? Now that he thought about it, seeing any of them out of uniform made the other knights seem a bit alien. One tended to forget that they had lives and interests outside the military. Which was why he was here.

“Sir Fraulein,” she said, standing to greet him.

“Lady Dancon,” he bowed in turn before allowing her to lead him to a seat.

“Leo and Lord Harras are off to browbeat the Council a bit more. I imagine that’ll be a good two hours at least,” she began, reaching to pour tea for both of them. The tightness in his chest eased a bit, knowing he’d have time to try to explain things. He wasn’t ready for anyone else to hear this, not yet, least of all Leo. Certainly the older man was gracious and would not throw away a friendship lightly. He was nothing if not loyal, but Percival didn’t feel ready to test the limits of that loyalty just now.

“I wish them luck,” Percival replied, accepting a cup. “Getting them to change their minds about anything is worse than laying siege to a Lizard stronghold.”

“I quite agree,” she nodded, sipping her tea.

“If there is anything I can do, please let me know.”

“I will,” she nodded. They sipped their tea in silence for a moment, Aurella waiting for him to begin, but Percival unsure how.

“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” he said at last. “I confess I’m not sure where to begin.”

The tilt to her head belied her confusion as she set her teacup in her lap. “Is something wrong?”

“Well, no,” he said awkwardly, setting his cup on the table and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Remember when you...caught me that one time?”

She raised an eyebrow at this. Percival couldn’t help a slightly nervous chuckle. Yes, she’d caught him at a number of things plenty of times over the years. He’d have to be more specific.

“Kissing?”

“Ah.” She did indeed. Well there was one bit of explanation to pass by. Percival had quite lost track of that particular squire, which was probably just as well.

“It’s not about him. It’s about…” Work his jaw as he might, the words refused to come. Giving up, he dug in his pocket and produced a few opened envelopes. He’d thought this might happen. Wordlessly, he handed them to her.

“What are these?” she asked, accepting the well-worn bits of paper.

“Letters,” he managed at last, “from a friend. A friend in Iksay. We’ve known each other since we were children. His family owned the farm next to mine. They still do, though it’s only him now.”

Eyes on the paper, she nodded distractedly as she read. In silence he waited, smiling when she did, anticipating her slight laughter when she reached certain points. None of the letters were long. To the casual observer, they probably resembled nothing so much as children’s stories, populated as they were with opinionated tomatoes and finicky horses.

“Your horse has quite the correspondence,” she remarked when she’d finished.

“Yes,” Percival agreed, fighting not to blush. He must not have been successful, for her expression grew thoughtful.

“It’s not a code, not really, but…” The sentence trailed off, the words scattering like frightened pigeons.

“You’re in love with him.”

Percival nodded, glad he’d been spared having to spell it out. It wouldn’t be this easy should he tell- _should_ he tell?- anyone else. Salome was so adept at intrigue it was a wonder he hadn’t seen through him already. As an Elf, Roland was unlikely to care. He frequently seemed boggled by the social and political intricacies over which his human companions worked themselves into a frenzy. Leo was a loyal soul, unlikely to abandon his oaths of fidelity to his friends, but Percival couldn’t help the trepidation he felt at the thought of such a conversation. Borus would no doubt take it completely the wrong way and assume Percival was declaring his undying love to _him_. Worst of all, he feared what Lady Chris might think. It wasn’t technically illegal to romance a member of one’s own gender, but it was rather strongly frowned upon. The higher one went in the social-political scheme, the deeper the frown. Losing his title as well as his job was a very real possibility. Not that he would mind returning to life as a farmer, especially if that life could be with Barts, but he’d worked hard for what he’d earned. It didn’t seem fair for it to be taken from him just because he’d fallen in love with another man.

“Well, he writes an amusing letter,” Aurella commented, glancing at the pages again before refolding and handing them back to him. “I can’t abide a person- male or female- who hasn’t got a sense of humor.”

Percival thought this rich coming from her. Lady Dancon did have a sense of humor, but it was dry and acerbic; her wit carrying a bite to rival a bulldog’s. 

“I take it he is a farmer?” she went on. The casual politeness struck him sideways. He had expected invasive personal questions and callous inquiries as to how same-sex relationships were supposed to work. Then again, Dame Aurella had grown up on the docks of Vinay del Zexay in the poorest parts of town. Odds were high she knew more about it than he did.

“Yes,” he replied. “Mostly produce. He’s not fond of cereals. You know the tomatoes they sell at the market? Those are almost exclusively his.”

“Really?” Percival smiled at her tone; she was impressed. No easy feat when it came to Zexen’s senior Mistress of The Sword. “I’d never had one before dinner last night. They were delicious. Please give him my compliments.”

The smiled widened into a grin. “I will. He’s famous for them locally. Everyone’s tried to copy his technique for growing them, but no one’s gotten it quite right yet. He’s not the only tomato farmer in Iksay, but he’s certainly the best.”

“I suppose farming is his life, then?”

“It does take up one’s time,” Percival agreed. “But Barts has a passion for it that I’ve not seen in many others. He’s happiest when he’s digging in the dirt.”

Dame Aurella nodded thoughtfully, reaching to refill their cups. “He sounds like a lovely young man,” she commented. Percival couldn’t help blushing minutely.

“He is.”

“I don’t suppose anyone besides me has heard of him in this context?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t know how to tell them, or even if I should. Something like this could cost me my station as a knight.”

“It could,” she agreed, “but it doesn’t have to. It isn’t illegal to take a lover- if it was, Zexen would have the smallest army on the continent.”

“And a vacant Guild Council!” Percival laughed. Aurella joined him.

“I know… I know I can’t bring him here to Vinay del Zexay,” Percival said once he’d recovered. “Barts knows that too, but I know he’s happier where he is. He wouldn’t like living surrounded by so much stone, with only a back garden or a window box to cultivate.”

“You lead very separate lives.”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I grew up a farmer, and I understand what it takes to bring food out of the earth. I still think by seasons and by crops and harvests, but I am a knight. I chose this life because I wanted something more. I am proud to serve my country and to defend my people. I don’t want to give that up if I don’t have to.”

“Nor should you,” Dame Aurella agreed. A pause. “Have you shared your concerns with anyone else? Lady Lightfellow perhaps?”

“Goddess, no!” Percival raised his hands in defense. “No, I couldn’t! Although I wonder sometimes if I ought to? I don’t know.” It was a decision he’d gone round about in his head so often he was making himself dizzy. Frustrated, he rubbed his face with both hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

Across the tea table, his old Sergeant-Captain looked at him. It wasn’t the usual eagle-eyed stare reserved for interrogations or military inspection. Instead, it was more of an appraising look, as if she were trying to take his measure with her eyes alone. After a long moment, she spoke.

“It is your private business to keep or to share as you will. I cannot advise you on that. All I can tell you is that each of your friends love you and value you as both an officer and a friend. Further, they are bound by oath to stand by you.” Setting down her teacup, she sat up and faced him fully. “That aside, I do not think they would cast you out over something so trivial.”

“Trivial?” he echoed, feeling insulted.

“People fall in love all the time,” she shrugged. “Lord Redrum used to do so at least once a week, a different young lady every time. Oh he wasn’t a womanizer of course, he just took a fancy to one girl after another and spent a lot of time making calf eyes and writing bad poetry. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

Percival grinned.

“So you’ve taken a lover, so what?” she went on. “He isn’t part of the military. He isn’t even living in Vinay del Zexay.”

“So...you don’t think I have anything to worry about?” he hazarded. Dame Aurella shook her head.

“I didn’t say that, but as long as the relationship does not negatively affect your ability to function as a knight, I don’t see a problem. Then again, I am not Captain-General.”

She had a point. Still, he had at least a vague idea of what he ought to do.

“I understand. Thank you.”

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barts' tomato song is real.
> 
> [Home Grown Tomatoes"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1-QzLIjL1u4) written and preformed by Guy Clark.
> 
> I imagine it sounds about like this coming from Barts as well. ^^


	10. Vinegar and Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a disagreement.

“Madam Redrum,” Leo said gravely, politely bowing over the old woman’s hand. Madam Redrum nodded fractionally to him, rather than make the exertion of bending her knees. She was, after all, in her seventies and entitled to such luxuries.

“Won’t you have a seat, Lord Gallen?” She offered, sweeping somewhat stiffly to the sofa and enthroning herself in the middle, thereby forcing Leo and Aurella to seat themselves separately. For his part, Borus resigned himself to a seat next to his grandmother.

The Redrums were not a tall people. Borus, while sturdy, was just barely shoulder height to Leo. His grandmother was smaller still, the top of her head only just peeking above her grandson’s shoulder. Clad entirely in black silk, except for a white lace cap, she looked as shiny and spindly as a spider. Although both he and Aurella had assumed any invitation from another member of the high command would be reasonably safe, Leo couldn’t help the sense of foreboding curdling in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m so glad you could take some time off this season,” she began, her hands remarkably steady as she poured tea for them all. Well, not quite all. Borus noticed she’d left one of the four cups empty and untouched on the tray. Perhaps she wasn’t thirsty? His stomach sank as she offered a cup to Leo, gave one to him, and took one for herself. Dame Aurella blinked, but otherwise did not react.

“Yes,” Leo replied somewhat awkwardly, briefly glancing at his wife and then passing his cup to her. “It’s been too long since I’ve taken leave.”

“Yes, I’d heard you’d taken leave of your senses,” Madam Redrum went on pleasantly, stirring cream into her tea. She took a deliberate sip before reaching to fill the fourth cup. “I had hoped it was only wild rumor. I must say, we’re all very disappointed.”

Leo blinked, evidently too bewildered to form a coherent reply. “Disappointed?”

“Oh not in you, dear boy,” she amended, at last handing him the teacup. “The heart is not nearly so sensible as the head. When I heard you had married we were all so pleased. Imagine, the Gallen line being secure once more.”

Leo closed his eyes, evidently mentally counting to ten. Possibly higher. Borus hid behind a sip of tea.

“You needn’t worry yourself over that,” Leo managed after a count of perhaps thirty. “No sense fussing over the rights to a crumbling old barn.”

Madam Redrum’s sharp blue eyes narrowed. Borus cringed. Dame Aurella alone seemed unmoved by the bald-faced insults. Her expression was utterly impassive, almost stone-like. He had seen that look many times before, but until now, had not known what it was. She could not afford to retort, to defend herself. Nor could she let it be known that the remarks had hurt. Therefore, she had committed a sort of emotional retreat, feigning indifference until the siege was over.

“Crumbling or not, it is still valuable land. You would not be the first to be married for your money.”

Leo put the teacup down. “That is not the issue,” he stated flatly.

“Isn’t it?” Madam Redrum also set down her tea, expression quite perplexed. “Dear me. I would have thought that would be the main reason, although we had hoped there was nothing unsavory behind it.”

Although Dame Aurella had not moved a muscle, had barely batted an eye, but Borus noticed the skin of her folded hands turning white about the knuckles. Evidently his grandmother had as well, for she went on, continuing to speak as if Leo’s wife were not in the room.

“Commoners have their place- the kitchens, the rear halls, the scullery, the stables. While I personally find courtesans a distasteful extravagance, surely one might look beyond the barracks? Even a chambermaid has the advantage of being touched by none but her master. Why on earth would you want an apple when someone else has already had a bite?”

“ _Granny!_ ” Borus shot to his feet, outraged. He stood there, fuming and sputtering, struggling to find words polite enough for the anger he felt. She was his grandmother. He was supposed to treat her with honor and respect, but she had utterly failed to treat his friends with even a shred of courtesy. Behind him, Leo sat shocked into silence, choked with rage. Madam Redrum simply looked at them all serenely and sipped her tea.

“Lord Redrum.”

Borus whipped around to see Dame Aurella rising from her straight-backed chair. Spreading her skirts, she sank into a brief courtsey.

“Thank you for the invitation,” she said simply. Turning, she touched her husband’s shoulder, bringing him back to the present. Without another word she turned and went out the door, Leo following close behind.

A long moment of silence followed the distant thunk of the closing front door. Madam Redrum finished her tea and set the cup down with an air of finality.

“Well, that’s done,” she said with some distaste. “I’ll have no more doxies in my parlor, married to their men or not.”

“You elitist, self-satisfied, insufferable old _cow_!” Borus shouted, loosing his rage at last. “How dare you insult my friends like that!”

“I did nothing of the sort,” his grandmother replied cooly, after having recovered somewhat from her shock. “I only told the truth. I cannot be held responsible if it is ugly.”

“My foot!” Borus retorted. “I don’t see how you could have been more rude, more mean-spirited to a woman who I happen to know has a spotless record! She’s a lovely human being and a damn good soldier. At least she doesn’t fancy herself a ranking member of a false aristocracy that built itself on selling trinkets! She knows who and what she is; Second-Lieutenant, the finest Mistress of The Sword the army’s ever seen, a knight of Zexen, and the wife of one of my best friends. Did you work so hard for your title?” he sneered. “Or did you crown yourself queen of a kingdom that doesn’t even exist?”

“Mind your tongue,” she stated frostily. Borus fell silent. “It is you who overstep your bounds, young man. I am head of this family, and I hold the purse strings.”

“Keep your money,” he spat without thought. “If I’ve got to bend and scrape to your nonsensical whims, then I don’t need it.”

“Very well. Go then. You needn’t stay if you feel you’re not wanted.”

“Fine.”

Turning sharply on his heel, Borus marched out the door.

\--

Rather than climb into the carriage that stood waiting for them, Leo turned aside and began marching up the cobbles, stamping one foot in front of the other like an angry bulldog. Aurella kept pace at his elbow, he stride no less purposeful, but with considerably less emotion. The Redrum house was at the opposite end of the city from the Harras’ home, and they were more than three-quarters of the way there before Leo finally slowed his pace.

“I’ve no idea what to say.” Leo broke his own silence with uncertainty. “Borus is my friend, our friend. I cannot believe that just happened.”

“Don’t blame him,” Aurella said without looking at him, her mask of blandness still in place. “I’ve known many a fish wife to abuse the privilege of age. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

“I know,” he grumbled, still hurt, “but I that doesn’t give her the right--”

“Enough.”

Leo fell silent. Guilt and indignation roiling inside him, he almost stopped short as Aurella threaded her arm through his. Aurella might be used to such bald-faced insults, but he was not. She might insist it didn’t bother her, but her stony expression betrayed by its very presence that somewhere, deep down, the remarks had stung. She should not _have_ to deal with this sort of childish goading. In truth he was more angry with himself than with Borus. She was his wife, his beloved, _he_ should have said something, but he’d been too dumbfounded to make a coherent reply.

“It’s only one more night,” Aurella spoke up, seeming to read his thoughts. “Then it’ll be Longest Night, and then we can go home. I’m ready to go home.”

Leo put a hand over hers and patted it gently. “So am I.”


	11. Longest Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Leo and Aurella attend midnight mass.

Aurella had been born to a merchant family, albeit an unsuccessful one, and as such had grown up with different customs than those found in the agrarian inland. There had been no midwinter feasts, no stout log upon their meager hearth. Greenery was scavenged from the sea, not the forests, and their home had been adorned with fragrant dry sea grass and a shell with one short, precious, tallow candle that had burned in the window facing the sea to light the way for the New Year.

There were dozens of small parish churches in Zexen besides the chapel inside Brass Castle. For many years she and her sisters had stood and observed this, the longest of evenings, clustered at the back of the chapel like so many iron-clad nuns. Curiously, it was one place where she and the other women had found a part to play that garnered no ridicule. Each year a dozen women were selected to process with candles to light the altar dedicated to St. Loa. It seemed only fitting that Zexen’s female saint should be attended by women.

Both the castle chapel and the little stone box she’d gone to as a child felt larger than they truly were. Entirely stone, only their tall pointed roofs made of timber, the wide open spaces had echoed in a way that had always been the sound of holiness to Aurella. Heated only by candles and the warmth of so many bodies pressed together, the building had seemed alive with light and music. There had been no organ, no choir, just a few local musicians singing religious lyrics to tunes more commonly heard in the pub. The sacred melodies to the old carols had thrown her upon first hearing, but she picked them up quickly enough. Still, she was not the only one in the army who knew that “Brightly Now The Stars Doth Shine” had originally shared the tune of “The Beggar’s Bowl of Ale”.

Staying with the Harras family during the winter season had been both a treat and a cultural experience. Although she’d been around the nobility off and on for much of her life, she’d never been _among_ them. She was one of them now, technically; a thought that had yet to lose its ability to boggle. The Harras family worshipped at the largest chapel, and invited her and her husband to do the same.

“Why don’t you come with us?” Miss Harras had entreated. “Please, it’s a lovely service.”

“We have plans,” Aurella had told her, adding a smile to make sure the words did not sound an insult. Leo, of course, did not know what these plans were until she’d told him. At that juncture he had blinked, but agreed, wanting to please her. Therefore, a few moments after their hosts had left, they exited via the rear door of the Harras home dressed not in fur or velvet, but in the plainest garments they owned.

Hand-in-hand, Aurella led Leo away from the wealthier areas of town, past the grand houses and courtyard gardens. The market and square separated the poorer areas from those of privilege, but even there she did not stop. Not until the air began to taste of salt and stink of fish and refuse even in the cold did she turn onto a side-street. Dodging frozen puddles and heaps of rubbish, they made their way down the narrow, winding lane. Aurella couldn’t help smiling, noting the candle sitting in a shell sconce lighting each and every window.

The chapel’s stone spire only just stuck up above the roofs of its ramshackle neighbors like the overlarge plumes of a lady’s hat. It’s plain leaded windows gleamed golden in the darkness, the sound of voices drifting out in a sort of tuneless music into the cold night. The stones outside were dark and slimy from years of salt spray and soot. Inside it was already crowded with what seemed like every soul in the parish. By some miracle, Aurella and Leo managed to sidestep into a small space against the back wall.

Tall as he was, even Leo had difficulty discerning the quartet of musicians gathered near the apse. Smokey tallow candles spit and guttered, dripping hot grease onto those below. The hangings adorning the otherwise bare walls were old, worn, and crudely made, but carefully clean. Though the altar was adorned only with pewter candlesticks and wooden articles, the simple cups and bowls were clearly new.

It was so strange to be back, to be among people and families who had known her as a small child. However, amid the warm gloom and the press of bodies, no one paid any mind to yet another couple elbowing their way into the service. The babble of voices died down as the band launched into the first song, the twangy plunk of an ill-tuned lute, a wheezy concertina, scratchy viol, and rather squealy penny pipe making for a marked contrast from the cathedral organ. Leo’s brows shot into his hairline as he recognized the opening bars of a song he probably only knew as a rather bawdy tune that frequently found many cadets reprimanded. Aurella, however, just smiled and opened her mouth with the others as they began to sing.

_This the winter’s longest night  
O’er which the stars shine bright_

_Storms may rage and cold winds blow  
Bringing ice and drifting snow_

_Guard us with thy power and might_  
Bringing to us warmth and light...  


Fighting not to laugh, he joined in, squeezing her hand tightly.

Very few at the castle still bothered to stay all night in the chapel unless, of course, they were standing vigil for their knighthood. However, it wouldn’t be the same if she hadn’t stayed for the full service. She and the other women and even a handful of the common-born men had stayed until well after midnight when the last candle had burned out leaving only St. Loa’s flame. This too, had burned dangerously low, the thick pillar candle reduced to perhaps an inch in height, wallowing in its own meted fat.

With this single light glowing in the dark box of stone, the church suddenly felt more like a tomb than a place of worship. A cold blast of wind pierced the darkness as the doors were opened, sweeping through the gathered parishioners and snuffing the dying flame. For a long moment all was dark, all was cold, every breath held as if waiting for dawn. As the wind died down, a soft voice lifted itself in the emptiness and with it, a light.

A small girl dressed in a long white gown and bright red cloak stepped into the chapel, a tall candle gripped tightly in both hands. As a body, the crowd parted in the center for her, making a narrow aisle leading straight to the altar.

Her voice, while small and high, rang clear and sweet off the bare stone. Leo, who had evidently not been expecting to be standing so long and had begun to slouch, abruptly straightened. He listened transfixed as the child made her way into the church. Tearing her eyes away from the girl, Aurella looked up at him questioningly.

“I’ve never heard it sung in high tongue before,” he murmured into her ear.

“You know what she’s saying?” Although raised on the hymn, every foreign word memorized, Aurella herself had no idea what was actually being said. Leo nodded and leaned close, the deep rumbling of his voice like earth beneath the wind song of the child’s voice.

 

“ _As darkness falls across the land_  
The winter’s snow drifts cold and deep  
A candle bear I in my hand  
For all the earth has gone to sleep  
The stars glow cold, and clear and bright  
The wind is icy from the sea  
But we’ll be warm this longest night  
With joy and light, surrounded be.

_The year is long and growing old_  
Though fuel is scarce, and food is dear  
While all around the earth is cold  
In loving kindness keep us near  
Beneath thy soft and shelt’ring wings  
We lay our cares and burdens down  
Thy love and praises we shall sing  
And share thy blessings all around 

_May cold and snow our Goddess tame_  
Drive out the darkness with thy light  
We sing the glory of thy name  
Until the dawn drives out the night  
Protect us by thy saving grace  
Until the light returns again  
In dawning sun we see thy face  
And birds shall sing thy Spring amen”

Step by step she advanced until she reached the rickety wooden table draped with its moth-eaten, yet spotlessly white linen. Carefully, she set the fresh candle down into the hardening mire of melted grease that had been its predecessor.

Falling back into the crowd, the child vanished, and the congregation took up her song, repeating what she had just sung. Aurella waited until the last notes had died away before elbowing her way toward the door as the crush of people turned from the altar and began to pour out into the pitch-black night. At the door, however, she stopped short, alerting Leo with an elbow to the side. He blinked, perplexed, until she nodded at the alms box. As subtly as she could, she lifted the lid and emptied the entirety of her purse rather than plunk individual coins into the box. Leo did the same before following her out the door.

How the minister and attendants had gotten around to the front door so quickly she could never work out, but there they stood, handing out sacks and baskets either bought with charity, or donated by kindness.

“No thank you,” Aurella told the minister, a younger man she did not recognize. “We have all we need.” She smiled, knowing it was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The hymn goes to the tune of [The Wexford Carol](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxDZjg_Igoc).


	12. Paper War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the gauntlet is cast, and Leo and Aurella have ~~an argument~~ a discussion over how offended which of them should be over whose honor.

The Zexen Council’s Lord Minister was not unfamiliar with political slander, slights against his own personal character, and jabs at his family. However, these were less common now that he had held his position for several years. He had worked hard, bolstered by blood and breeding, to get where he was. He had been born a noble, and as such had the firm foundations of wealth and family to stand upon as he built his career. Yes, he had deserved everything he had received. Except that right-hook from Lord Gallen.

The physical assault had not entirely been a surprise. The Six Mighty Knights had started ballroom brawls before, though usually it was one of the two young hot-heads to throw the first punch. Lord Gallen, for all he was several years younger than the Lord Minister, was of a respectable age and station and really ought to know better than to behave like a pub rowdy at such an event. Then again, what could one expect from a man who took a common harlot to wife? Really, the man had far less sense than the Lord Minister had given him credit. It was no doubt caused by so much mingling with his footsoldiers. When on campaign, Lord Gallen was known to forego a pavillion and to sleep instead under the stars with his men. Associating with the ill-mannered, uneducated, and untitled commoners was not becoming of a man of his station. Such rabble were beneath the concern of ranking officers; people whom Lord Gallen should have left his underlings to deal with. Someone, he decided, would have to deal with the doxie.

For all the wench was his wife, Lord Gallen had behaved appallingly. The Lord Minister had spoken no more than the truth. Indeed, the strumpet had displayed better manners than her husband. Perhaps he’d managed to teach her a few of the more superficial graces of a noble lady, although the woman had always been cold and haughty. She had always held entirely too high an opinion of herself. As for Lord Gallen, well, he would have to be reminded of his station as well as his manners. This in mind, the Lord Minister sat down at his dark polished writing desk and took out a silver pen.

\--

“Leo, what on earth?” Aurella asked, standing from her writing desk. It was an art she had taken to quite well, though she had not yet adopted the hasty scribble of one jotting down notes or reminders. The strokes and loops of her pen were yet deliberate and steady, as one painting a picture instead of penning a note. The document in her hand, however, had not been written in her steady, slanted hand. Coming over, Leo accepted the paper and frowned at it.

“I thought we paid our tithe to Vinay del Zexay last month. Why do we still owe so much?”

“We did,” Aurella countered, her fingertips flicking through a vertical sheaf of papers and pulling out one. “Right here. Everything is accounted for.”

“Then where did this come from?”

“I’ve no earthly idea.”

The door to the study banged open, revealing a sweating and ashen-faced Sanson. The old steward stood huffing and puffing on the threshold for a moment before he could speak.

“My Lord,” he gasped, “my Lady. The western copse…”

“Fire?” Leo guessed, for the summer had been dry and the following autumn no less so. The gamekeeper had obsessed over the underbrush to the point of mania, fearing the spark that would set the forest ablaze.

“Poachers!”

“The deer?” Aurella had stood as well.

“The trees!”

Both of them gawped for a split second, before racing out the door, nearly trampling the poor steward in their haste. Leo paused only long enough to grab his axe, but Aurella darted straight to the stables. He emerged from the house in time to see her spring onto her charger bareback and bolt for the corner of the wood. Leo did likewise, foregoing tack and saddle and heeling his mount after her.

The western copse was not a far ride, the corner of Gallen-owned lands abutting the road that led to Vinay del Zexay. Riding hard, he pulled up short, jaw dangling at what he saw. A dozen or so men in common garb, armed with hatchets, were going to on his trees! A draft horse and a wagon already laden with three logs and a pile of trimmed branches stood waiting for more. Their work, however, had been brought to an abrupt halt by an enraged woman on horseback. She had seized one of the hatchets for herself and held it aloft, daring any of the workmen to take a second stroke. None of them seemed too keen on the idea.

“What is the meaning of this?” Leo demanded, riding up and putting himself between his wife and the woodmen.

“My Lord,” one said, removing his cap and kneading it between his fingers, “we were told to fell these trees as a tithe to Vinay del Zexay.”

“On whose orders? I was told of no such thing.”

The workman fumbled within his jacket for a moment and withdrew a folded bit of parchment. Taking it, Leo scanned the paper, his scowl deepening with every line. When he reached the signature and seal, things became all too clear.

“Well?” Aurella asked, having finally given up her borrowed axe.

“I’m afraid the gauntlet has been cast, my dear. We must go to war.” Leaning, she took the paper and read it herself, ending with a savage curse. The workmen each blinked, evidently not expecting such words from a Lady.

“The dog,” she grumbled, returning the offending document.

“That’s an insult to the species, my love,” he countered, attempting to dampen her anger. The remark earned him a small smile. “I’d like to keep this, if I may,” he asked the workman who bowed in difference. “I am also going to ask you to leave off my trees until I can get this sorted out. If you receive any further such orders, please see me first, and I will see if I can accommodate you.”

“My Lord,” the man said with a bow.

Leo did not return to the manor until the last worker had left, trailing behind the horse and cart. Aurella remained by his side, sitting as perfectly straight and upright as if she had a saddle beneath her.

“This is about me,” she muttered as the workmen became distant silhouettes against the setting sun.

“No, it is about us.”

Aurella blinked and turned to look at him. Reaching, Leo took her hand.

“I reacted rashly, but any other gentleman would have challenged the yellow cur to a duel. No man would suffer his wife to be called such words. Evidently he has chosen ink for his weapon and paper for his field of contest. Don’t worry. He shan’t win.”

Aurella smiled and squeezed his hand. “Indeed. It isn’t wise to cross swords with a poet.”

\--

Lord Gallen, it seemed, was not so dense as he’d assumed. The man was quite studied in his own family history and had promptly sent a document of protest, outlining a dozen or so laws which protected his forests, fields, crops, and tenants from any undue tax and harassment. In short, all requests were to be filed via the lord of the manner or his lady wife. The Lord Minister wadded up the paper and ground his teeth. No matter, there were other ways to teach the oaf and his whore about the ways of the gentry.

“Lord Gallen,” it was Sanson again. “My Lady, I fear there is something amiss at the kennels…”

With a groan, Leo got up from his chair and hurried to where the dogs were kept. Aurella, dropping her knitting, followed close behind. The kennels had expanded slightly since she’d become part of Gallen Manor. Aside from the Great Danes, there were now two Boar Hounds, a set of Deer Hounds, three Wolf Hounds, and a mixed assortment of mad little terriers supposedly good for rabbits, foxes, and badgers.

Leo sighed and strode into the mass of barking canines, all of which had pointed their bared teeth at the three woefully outnumbered men each carrying a number of leashes and collars.

“I am Lord Gallen,” Leo told them, striding up and placing himself between the interlopers and his dogs, Aurella installing herself at his elbow. “What business have you in my kennels?”

“Sir,” one stepped forward, a small plume on his hat, “it is unlawful for mongrels to be sold or purchased under the name of purebred. As such, I have been commanded to take these animals and--”

“Then I shall be the first to go.” Aurella had stepped forward and offered both her wrists to be manacled, though neither of the dog catchers carried such a thing. They exchanged hapless glances with one another, wondering what to do.

“No?” she asked, lowering her hands. “Am I to wear a collar then? After all, my blood is less pure than that of these animals, is it not?”

Leo shivered slightly, glad he was not the one caught in her icy stare. As one, the men took a step back.

“That’s what I thought,” she stated. “Go then, and tell your master not to send pups to do an alpha’s errand.”

The Lord Minister was a bit surprised at the height of forms waiting for him in the tray this morning. All of them, apparently, bearing the same seal: that of the Gallen family. Sorting through the stack proved each and every one to be the records of what appeared to be every animal the Gallen family had ever owned. With a snarl he ordered his hapless secretary to throw them into the fire. It was time, apparently, for a more direct approach.

\--

“It’s too much! I won’t stand for these repeated insults!” Leo said tersely, shoving things into a bag for their departure the next day. Leave was always too short, but what with putting out the Lord Minister’s various legal brush fires, it had been anything but relaxing. Spoiling for a fight, Leo was ready to return to duty. “Perhaps you don’t care, but _I do_! I won’t allow him to slander you further!” 

“Oh for Goddess’ sake, Leo!”

It was the first time she’d ever shouted at him, honestly shouted, as if he were a student bungling a sword maneuver. Too angry to be properly brought up short by this, he shouted back:

“He took your honor!” The words were just as angry, growled as much as yelled. “Your dignity as a woman!”

“He took nothing!”

“He took your maidenhood!”

Her back turned, she looked over her shoulder enough to stare at him. The rest of her followed after a moment, bringing her bewildered expression into full view.

“Maidenhood?” she echoed. Her expression contorted, and Leo came to the surreal realization that she was struggling not to laugh. “That’s what this is about?” She did laugh at this, and while she clearly thought it hysterical, there were notes of bitterness.

“I thought you didn’t care.”

“I don’t,” he shrugged, “but no one should be robbed of their innocence like that.”

Sighing deeply, she leaned back against the table edge and shook her head. “Leo, my innocence was gone long before the Lord Minister and his friends got to me. I was fifteen, almost sixteen when I joined ranks.”

“What has that to do with anything?” He crossed his arms over his chest, settling into parade rest.

“I became a woman before that,” she told him, voice suddenly soft. “Some of my friends much younger.”

“Was your childhood taken by force?” he asked, his own voice dangerously quiet. To his surprise she shook her head, cheeks staining pink.

“No. It was given freely, if out of the foolishness of youth. I have that much to be grateful for.” Her smile turned sheepish, almost shy. “He was a gentleman. A good thing. Otherwise I might never have known such a beast existed.”

Leo smiled at that, and gladly folded her into his arms as she crossed the floor and leaned against him.

“A very good thing,” he rumbled, hugging her close. “I’m sorry I shouted. I just…”

“What?” she asked, tilting her head up to look at him.

“I just get so angry that anyone would treat you- or anyone, really- like that. Not for my own sake, but for yours.”

“You’re really not disappointed?” She knew in her head that he wasn’t, that he didn’t care, but the suspicion still lingered. Leaning down, he kissed her forehead.

“Of course not. It’d hardly be fair to hold myself to a different standard, now would it?”

The heat rising in his own cheeks was well worth the reward of seeing her crooked smile.

“We were all young once, and we loved freely and foolishly. I’m not angry about what was given, only what was stolen by force.”

“There was nothing to take,” she reminded him. Reflexively, Leo tightened his arms around her.

“He didn’t know that. Besides, we both know rape isn’t about deflowering a maiden, not really.”

“No,” her side of the hug tightened as well and she laid her head against his shoulder. “There was no worry of making a good match or keeping a bloodline pure, not with a common girl. They just wanted to hurt me, to humiliate me.”

“And _that_ is what makes me angry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick note about Aurella's sexual activity:  
> I imagine the Suikoden III world as a sort of nearly-Elizabethan Europe. Women were often married in their mid-teens and as such, it wouldn't be out of the ordinary for her to have experimented once or twice. This is meant to be taken in a historical/fantasy context.  
> Thank you.


	13. For Richer or Poorer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there are wedding vows.

 

It felt strange to be in town, particularly in the summer. Leo came to Vinay del Zexay periodically to inspect the troops at the Guild Hall and to argue with the Council, but up until recently they’d been on campaign. This would be the first summer in many years that Zexen wasn’t actively fighting some other nation. At least they’d have something to do with their time off.

The invitation from Lady Harras had been a surprise, though a pleasant one. Evidently her daughter was to be married- to one of the castle quartermasters no less! Aurella couldn’t help smiling at this. How things had changed. Despite the unholy upheaval that arranging a wedding could cause, both she and Leo would be staying once again at the Harras home.

“Lord Gallen, Lady Dancon,” Lady Harras took them each by the hands and smiled warmly. “How very good it is to see you both.”

Aurella smiled, touched by the greeting. Given the debacle of the winter holidays, she hadn’t been entirely sure Lady Harras would want to see either of them again.

“Are you sure we won’t be a bother?” she asked once Lady Harras had ushered them both into the parlor. “Won’t the house be awfully crowded?”

Lady Harras waved the remark away before reaching for the teapot. “Nonsense. There’s plenty of room. Besides, weddings can turn into a logistical nightmare if not managed properly, I’ll be glad of the assistance of a military officer.”

Leo blinked at this, but Aurella laughed. “Well, I’ll do my best.”

\--

Although the St. Loa chapel could have been scheduled for the occasion, it would have been dreadfully expensive even for the Harras family. Therefore, the house was to be cleaned, polished, and suitably decorated for the marriage ceremony. The wedding itself would take place outside in the immaculate back garden. The last time Aurella and Leo had visited, everything had been bare and covered in snow. Now, in the early summer sunshine, the roses and other flowers were in full bloom, and many of the trees sported fragrant blossoms as well as thick green leaves. Like many of the city gardens, this one wasn’t large, but it made the best use possible of the limited space. Everything was arranged in neat, geometric shapes with narrow paths of crushed white oyster shells between. The beds closest to the house were full of herbs and vegetables, those farther away held roses and other flowers both native and exotic. Aurella had never been one for flowers, but the ones with yellow blossoms that opened in a long flute with a frill at the bottom were especially charming. They reminded her of a teacup on a saucer.

“Daffodils,” Lady Harras explained, beaming proudly. “They grow in the northern regions, and they’re perennials. They’ll come back every spring without any fuss. I’ll have a some of the bulbs put into a bag for you to take home.”

“Thank you,” Aurella said, knowing now that it would do no good to argue against the older woman’s generosity. It was pleasant to be among people who were glad to see her. Having so many friends around her- both soldiers and civilians- was still strange. During the winter season they had sat around the Harras’ table in a more formal arrangement. However, with a house full of guests and relatives, the seating arrangement suddenly became much more relaxed. Lady Harras bade Aurella to sit at the corner nearest the head of the table where she presided as lady of the house. As the Harras’ and their soon-to-be in-laws chatted with a sort of happy awkwardness, Aurella sat quietly, content to observe. The privilege of being included in this happy family gathering burned warm and bright inside her. 

Although preparations had begun almost as soon as the happy couple had announced their intentions, there was still an endless amount to accomplish and organize. The groom- the taller, more slender of the two quartermasters- had married “up”, much as Aurella herself had. While his family was in attendance, his mother seemed content to stand back and let Lady Harras supervise the proceedings with Aurella as her deputy commander.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” Aurella had asked. The groom’s mother was a stout and affable woman by the name of “Mildred” who insisted upon being called “Millie”. Aurella didn’t blame her.

“Oh not at all Lady Gallen, not at all. Goodness I wouldn’t know what to do. Besides, planning these things is the duty of the bride’s family, isn’t it?”

Aurella supposed it was, though it was largely academic knowledge. Like Millie, she was used to much simpler affairs. He own wedding had been small and bare-bones even by country standards. There had been no decorations, few guests, and the tenant party had been delayed by a week at least. She was not sorry for Leo’s slightly rash decision to marry on the spot. The comparatively small celebration of Rachel and Theo’s union was bad enough. She could not imagine the nightmare that a state wedding would have been.

“That’s the lilacs, the lilies, and the carnations,” she relayed as the florists set down their various arrangements of flowers. “Where would you like them?”

While Lady Harras indicated where she would like the bouquets and sprays, Aurella ticked off the names and the items delivered. Once Lady Harras had counted out the coins for their payment, Aurella noted that as well. The afternoon went by in a blur, what with assisting with one thing and another, and the men mostly trying to stay out from underfoot. Once everything had been delivered and put in place, the women sat down to an informal dinner.

“Where have the men got to?” Aurella asked, noting the lack of masculine faces around the table.

“Salome’s taken them off to his father’s old club. Don’t worry, the trouble they can get into there is limited.”

Aurella smiled and nodded, knowing the company rather than the venue would make for a far less rowdy affair than it might have been ordinarily. Having along two members of the Zexen High Command would certainly make for much more genteel stag party. At least, she hoped so.

\--

The morning of the wedding dawned cool and fair with the promise of blue skies and a light breeze. A perfect day. Lady Harras disappeared upstairs with her daughter which, much to her lasting astonishment, left Aurella to act as hostess and receive the guests as they arrived. Leo, none the worse for wear from his evening of revelry- at least the men had returned at a half-decent hour- assisted in this.

There was tea in the parlor, and an empty table spread with a white cloth. This would hold the wedding feast, which was in the final stages of preparation in the kitchens. Only the cake, a dark and spicy-scented ring drizzled with icing and adorned with sugared flowers, sat waiting on a glass pedestal.

It did not take long to admit and arrange all those invited outside in the garden. There were perhaps thirty all told; the bride and groom’s families as well as assorted friends and more distant relations. Aurella was pleased that Lady Lightfellow had been invited, and the Captain-General seemed equally happy to see another familiar face. It was an open secret that Lady Lightfellow and Lord Harras fancied each other, but so far their romance was moving forward with all the preponderant ceremony of a glacier. However, it was not their romance that gathered everyone together today.

The minister had come forward, standing at the bottom of the garden beneath two ornamental trees that reached higher than the house. He said a few words, and then signaled for everyone to begin the wedding hymn. It was traditional, the same song for every wedding rich or poor. Simple and ancient, it was one thing that Theo’s less glamorous family and the aristocrats could both identify with. The High Command, her friends, had done their level best for her and Leo. Lady Lightfellow’s voice had wandered all over the higher parts, and Lord Redrum had had to scribble down the words for Sir Lesaurus who was not familiar with the hymn at all. Still, they’d gotten there in the end, and that was what mattered. For a second time, Aurella did not sing, only stood and smiled, her hand on Leo’s arm.

As the assembled guests sang, Miss Harras appeared in the doorway. Her father gone to the goddess, her hand rested on her brother’s arm. Both looked very handsome, he in his dress uniform and she in a lace-trimmed frock as blue as the sky. Blue was traditional for a bride, even Aurella’s own wedding clothes had been- quite by accident- blue. Blue meant happiness, and judging from the smiles on the young couples’ faces, that was not something for which they would ever want.

Guiding her up the aisle, Lord Harras’s steps were measured and sure, while his sister seemed glide over the earth like a cloud. With a muttered word to the groom, and a quick kiss to the bride’s cheek, he placed her hand in that of her beloved’s and stepped to one side.

The address was mercifully brief. Unlike her husband, Aurella was unschooled in classical language and so the foreign syllables went in one ear and out the other. Only when the couple began to exchange vows did she pay attention. Miss Harras had not worn a ring during her engagement, her fiance being too poor, but now he slipped a simple golden band onto her finger. A moment later, he had leaned and kissed her. The minister proclaimed them husband and wife, and the assembled guests stood and cheered.

\--

The formal ceremony over, the servants brought forth the feast. A wealthier household might have spread a formal banquet, but in deference to Theo’s family, Madame Harras had opted instead for a buffet. This way, there was no need to fuss about who sat next to who, or at which end of the table. The guests could pick and choose their own food as well as their own seats, which suited Aurella very well.

“Saving a piece to put under your pillow?” she teased as Mrs. Harras served Lady Lightfellow a slice of cake. Rachel, having the higher social rank, would be sharing her family name with her husband who had none of his own. She would not be Lady Harras until her mother passed. The Captain-General blushed fractionally and laughed.

“I’ve never understood that,” she replied. “How is a bit of cake going to reveal my future husband to me? I did it once before for one Louis’ older brothers’ wedding. I forgot to wrap it in a handkerchief first and was punished for smearing cake and frosting all over the sheets by being made to wash them myself!”

Aurella grinned, but the men laughed freely. She was not about to admit that this was the first bit of wedding cake she’d ever tasted. Lifting a bit to her mouth, she found it surprisingly moist if rather dense, the heavy spice and candied fruit lightened by the sugary icing. It was well she had no reason to save a bit for divination dreams. She had found her husband already, and she planned to finish every last bite of cake.

Traditionally, the cake was the first course of any wedding feast rather than the last. Not until the final slice had been served did the servants lift the lids of the various trays and platters and begin dishing food to the guests. Plates laden with rich treats, she and Leo found seats and spent several minutes eating in companionable silence. As family friends, they were not required to go round the room exchanging pleasantries with all and sundry if they didn’t feel like it. Instead they chatted briefly with those who passed by or sat near them. Leo, of course, knew far more people than she did. Aurella found herself presented as “my wife, Lady Dancon” in far more pleasant circumstances than ever before. However, even this grew tiresome and soon they retreated outside to the gardens.

Other guests milled about the oyster shell paths, enjoying the fine day and the well-kept flower beds. Arm in arm, she and Leo strolled about the petite garden. Neither she nor Leo had much of an eye for horticulture, but could appreciate the deft use of a limited space and the meticulous care lavished on every blade and leaf. After a moment Lord Harras came out to join them, pulling Leo aside and back toward the house, speaking in hushed tones as he did so. Assuming it to be Council Business (one tended to think of it in capitals), Aurella left them to it and strayed over to the daffodil bed near the back gate. The yellow blossoms made her think of fairy teacups, and she wondered for an idle, foolish moment if anyone had thought to replicate their likeness in china?

“Madam Gallen?”

“Yes?” The voice had come from behind her, and Aurella turned to find three men in Council livery on the other side of the gate. Judging from the crests on their uniforms, the Beadle and two sheriffs had come to pay their respects.

“Come with us, please.”

“What’s this?” Lady Harras asked, hurrying up to the gate, skirts clutched in both hands, clearly perplexed to find three men who had most certainly not been on the guest list at her daughter’s wedding reception.

“Please excuse us, Milady,” said the Beadle, touching the brim of his hat. “If it’s all the same, we’d rather not make a fuss. If Madam Gallen would please step outside? It’s a matter of some importance.”

“Alright,” Aurella agreed, mystified, and followed the three of them out the back gate. “What’s this about?” she asked, assuming it had to do with Leo’s latest tussle with the Council. “My husband is inside. Are you certain you wouldn’t rather talk to him?”

“Madam Gallen, you are under arrest for evading payment of debts owed.”

“What?” she asked blankly, too stunned to move as one of the sheriffs stepped forward to place manacles around her wrists. “By whose authority?” she managed at last. The Beadle consulted a leaf of parchment.

“The Lord Minister of the Zexen Council.”

For the second time her voice fled, and she could only stand and stare blankly as the two sheriffs each took her by an arm and began to lead her down the side alley toward the street. A plain black carriage waited there. She thought about digging in her heels, about turning and elbowing each of them in the face and running for all she was worth. But would it truly do her any good?

“Just a moment!”

Craning her neck, Aurella looked over her shoulder as the men leading her stopped short. Lord Harras, still in his dress uniform, had come out into the alley, followed closely by Leo and Lady Lightfellow.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Lord Harras asked, his brows gathered together threateningly. “Where are you taking her?”

“Lord Harras,” the Beadle bowed deeply before answering. “Madam Gallen has been charged with evading a debt, as well as number of other crimes.”

“Have you a warrant?” Lord Harras asked, his tone grown even colder.

“Here, Milord.”

Lord Harras snatched the parchment from his hand and scanned it, his scowl deepening with every line. For a long moment he stood silent, then began to read aloud:

“Whereas, Lady Aurella Dancon Madam Gallen is hereby charged with evasion of debt, fleeing justice, fraud, and conspiracy to commit fraud. She is to be taken to Harbor Prison until her appearance before the magistrate, at which time she shall confront her accuser.”

Returning the paper, Lord Harras regarded her for a tense moment.

“These are indeed serious accusations,” he said at last.

“Yes,” Lady Lightfellow chimed in. “Such blatant disregard for one’s honor and responsibilities cannot be permitted within the knighthood.” Her handsome face bent into a scowl, she also regarded the prisoner with a sternly disapproving look.

“Salome, take this woman into custody,” she ordered. Lord Harras bowed, and pulled Aurella away from the two gaolers.

“But…” the Beadle began. Lady Lightfellow did not let him finish.

“This is a military crime, and must be resolved in a military court,” she explained. “When we have dealt with Lady Dancon, we will turn her over to you.”

“Good day, gentleman,” Lord Harras said shortly, effectively sending the three party crashers on their way.

Although not one to faint, Aurella did her best not to sway where she stood. At once, Leo came and wrapped her in a protective hug. Her hands still bound, Aurella leaned against him, glad for his solid presence.

“Have you any idea what that was about?” Lord Harras asked once she and Leo had drawn apart somewhat.

“None,” she answered truthfully.

“I’m afraid we will have to take you into custody,” Lady Lightfellow said, coming forward to take her hands. “At least you’ll be Brass Castle’s responsibility and not in the care of the Council’s gaoler.”

“Thank you,” Leo told her, sincerity weighting his voice. Still stunned into silence, Aurella nodded. The castle brig was not exactly the poshest of accommodations, but she’d be treated better there than at the debtor’s prison in Vinay del Zexay.

“Don’t worry,” Lord Harras assured her. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

\--

Lady Harras had a skeleton key, it turned out, as well as a multitude of opinions of the three officers that had tried to drag Aurella away. Leo had many more, but kept them to himself. Aurella was able to sleep without her wrists bound, secured even more tightly in the protective circle of Leo’s arms. In the morning they rode in silence- Leo, herself, Lord Harras and Lady Lightfellow- back to Brass castle. Rather than escort her straight to the brig, however, Leo led her upstairs to the salon. Lord Redrum, Sir Lesaurus, and Percival, having not been invited to the wedding, were there already. She watched silently as their expressions morphed from confusion to alarm while Lord Harras outlined what had happened.

“A wise move,” Percival commented once he’d finished. “We can protect our own from here.”

“Is there any truth to it?” Sir Lesaurus wanted to know. Lord Harras shook his head.

“I sincerely doubt it, but I’ve sent for copies of the allegations just the same. The Lord Minister’s been making a nuisance of himself recently, and I’d like to know why.”

All eyes turned toward the sofa where Aurella and Leo sat side-by-side. Unable to meet their eyes, Aurella lowered hers to contemplate the floor. Silently, Leo took her hand and held it.

“I’m sorry, my friends,” he told them softly, “but this is a private battle.”

Lord Harras offered her a short bow by way of apology. “Forgive me,” he said with full humility. “We only wish to help.”

“Does she truly have to sit in the brig until we sort this out?” Percival wanted to know. Lord Harras nodded.

“I’m afraid so. I arrested her publicly. I am bound to follow procedure.”

“But she’s only under suspicion, nothing’s been proven,” Lord Redrum protested.

“That doesn’t matter,” Lord Harras replied, shaking his head. “Until anything’s proven I have to place her under arrest.”

“Then I’ll go too,” he said stoutly. Everyone turned to gape at him.

“Well, how do we know if anything’s actually happened? We all know the Lord Minister’s slippery as an eel. He’s been causing problems for Leo and Lady Dancon for months. Who’s to say he’s not taken his taunting to a new level? If we’re going to make someone who is more than likely innocent sit behind bars, then I want to at least be able to defend them if I need to.”

Lord Harras nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

Lord Redrum blinked. “Wait, it is?”

“Yes, an excellent idea,” Sir Lesaurus agreed. “Lady Dancon, given her history within the knighthood, warrants special protection.

“Indeed she does,” Lord Harras agreed. “A guard shall be placed at her cell at all times. We wouldn’t want her to escape, now would we?” The words were delivered with a smile, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. For the first time all day, Aurella smiled.

\--

The brig was mostly empty, which was not unusual considering there was no active conflict. A couple of footsoldiers who had gone AWOL and gotten drunk were the only prisoners awaiting discipline. There were a number of empty cells and the gaoler showed Aurella into one with a mix of deference and profound confusion. Having left her axe, boot knife, other weapons and armor in her quarters, Aurella sat primly on the warped wooden bench. There wasn’t much to do in the brig besides study the graffiti on the walls; that and try to figure out why she was here in the first place.

Her father, might he rest in peace, had been a good man. A foolish man, but a good man. None of her family had been what could be called “learned”. They all knew how to read, but only her father could write to any degree. That degree had not been high. She had known at the time that he’d been swindled. The terms of the contract had been ridiculous, but there was no other option. Everyone who borrowed was expected to pay exorbitant interest, and Saidie help you if you fell behind or couldn’t pay at all. But that was neither here nor there. That was just the way things were.

She had honestly thought she’d paid the debt in full. It had been no small feat, having taken most of her career to achieve. Had she known, she would not have agreed to marry Leo. A woman with debts was no wife at all, and she would have proudly been married in the town square in her chemise if only to prove that she was financially solvent. It seemed, however, that she’d brought her family’s debts with her and now Leo would be liable for the remaining balance. While she had no doubt that he would pay it happily and call it no more than a pittance, Aurella couldn’t help feeling foolish and guilty. This was her mess. She should be the one to clean it up.

The creaking of the cell door made her look up and she blinked at the tall figure standing in the doorway.

“Leo?”

He stepped forward, the iron bars slamming behind him. Aurella could only stare as he crossed the floor and sat down on the bench next to her.

“What on earth?”

“You must be under guard at all times,” he said, not bothering to hide a smile. “Remember?”

She stared a minute more before, despite it all, she broke into a laugh.

“Yes, I remember.”

Leo’s smile widened and he handed her a coarse wool blanket, one she recognized from the linen closets of the dormitories.

“You didn’t think I’d let you sit here alone all night?”

“I hadn’t really thought that far,” she admitted. Leo looked hurt, evidently wounded that she thought so little of his chivalry. Aware she might be digging herself in further, she tried to explain. “It’s my fault, not yours. There’s no reason you should have to sit here.”

“There is a perfectly good reason,” Leo told her with much sincerity. “My wife is in here, and where ever my wife is, there I shall be at her side. Besides,” he added, wrapping the blanket around them both, “who’s going to stop me?”

\--


	14. Terms of Disagreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a contract.

Because it would take several days for copies of the necessary documents to arrive, and because he had business at the Guild Hall anyway, Salome resolved to untangle this mess personally. For his second in this legal duel, he chose Borus. Although not as adept at dealing with the Council’s endless nonsense, he was intimately acquainted with the intricacies of commercial law. There might be a loophole or escape clause that he would notice before Salome did himself. A second pair of eyes was always useful in such matters. That aside, Borus was the intelligent political choice. He was young, handsome, and the son of a prosperous trading family, disinherited though he might be. His name and reputation would make for good leverage when the Council started throwing their weight around- which they invariably would.

The knowledge that he was no longer financially invincible had done much to quell Borus’ famously short temper in recent months. He’d done more scowling and less shouting, which suited the Vice-Commander just fine. Borus wasn’t a bad sort, but Salome was glad the younger knight had finally begun to learn a bit of self-control. He wasn’t sure how well he’d do himself when presented before the Lord Minister, considering how he’d made himself a burr under the High Command’s collective saddle ever since the Federation Day Ball.

For once, they were not kept waiting, and a clerk ushered them into the Lord Minister’s spacious office after only a cursory delay.

“Lord Harras, Sir Redrum,” the Lord Minister nodded politely to them both, but did not rise from the damask chair behind his desk. Salome returned the nod as did Borus, who was doing his best not to bristle at the subtle undercut.

“Thank you for seeing us,” Salome said, taking a seat though none had been offered. Two could play at this game. “We’ve come concerning the matter of Lady Dancon.”

“Yes, I thought as much,” the Lord minister nodded. “I’m glad I’ve finally gotten your attention.”

“You do indeed have it fully.” The words were dry, as was Salome’s expression. “I have heard the charges, but not the reasoning behind them.”

The Lord Minister nodded amicably. “Of course. When Lady Lightfellow gave us the names of those she wished to promote last year, the Council had to conduct inquiries of its own to make sure that there were no outstanding reasons why the promotion could not go forward. In most cases, this is no more than a formality. However, given that all of the candidates were common women- most unusual, you must agree- we had to expend a bit more time and effort.”

“In what way?” Borus asked, his brows lowered into a scowl.

“Don’t take on so, Sir Redrum. All I meant is that we had considerably less to go on. Many of these women did not even have a parish birth certificate, much less a record of conduct.”

“Yes,” Salome’s tone had gained no fluidity, “we were made aware of that. It has since been resolved.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” the Lord Minister replied somewhat distractedly, rummaging as he was in a drawer filled with paper folios. “It was during our own inquiries that we discovered Madam Gallen’s outstanding debts.”

With a slightly too-grand gesture, he spread a document on the desktop, weighting the corners with an inkwell and letter opener. Salome had half-expected the offending bit of paper to be several feet in length. However, while the print was dense and cramped, it seemed at first glance to be a perfectly ordinary contract. The Lord Minister produced a magnifying glass and after scanning the paper for a moment, set it down over a passage of text.

“If you will observe these lines,” he said, pointing to the spot with one finger. “Madam Gallen’s father had taken a loan in order to begin his own trading enterprise. As collateral, he signed over all his worldy goods and possessions; this included the members of his household.”

Borus blinked. “I can’t imagine that was legal even then! Zexen is not a nation of slavers!”

“No indeed!” the Lord Minister agreed, sounding deeply offended. “If you will read a bit further, the context is explained. The debt would be applicable to all members of the family, not just himself father. He was not familiar with this clause either, else he might not have hanged himself. He thought his death might absolve his family of his debts, but unfortunately, that was not the case.”

Salome frowned. “Lady Dancon has paid her debt. We have the receipts to prove it.”

The Lord Minister shook his head. “I’m afraid not. You see, the debt is shared in portion by each family member. Aurella paid her father’s debt, but she did not pay her own debt, or that of her sister or her brother. Her mother managed to work off her own debt in service.”

What kind of service, exactly, Salome did not dare to inquire. Shifting the paper a bit closer, he squinted at the tiny print. Like any other example of its kind, the contract’s wording was convoluted and obtuse, leaving much open to interpretation.

“I would like to see the corresponding account for this contract. I’m sure Lady Dancon is equal to whatever sum she may yet owe. I know that she would not have let this debt go unpaid had she been aware of the full amount.”

“Undoubtedly,” the Lord Minister nodded in agreement. “However, I would like you to take note of this passage here. She has indeed paid most of her monetary debt. However, the rest is to be paid in goods or labor, and that would apply to the family members of the original signer of this contract.”

At his elbow, Borus fumed, too angry even for words. For his part, Salome could only sit and stare, utterly dumbfounded.

“You would have her square her debt through indentured servitude?” he asked, his own voice sounding strangely blank and hollow.

“Those are the conditions of the contract,” the Lord Minister said with a helpless shrug. “As Lord Minister, I must uphold the law.”

“Why you--” Borus had risen from his seat, fumbling for a sword that wasn’t there. Quickly, Salome laid a hand on his arm.

“I would like a copy of this contract,” he said, pushing his chair in and trying to steer Borus toward the door at the same time. “And one of the associated accounts as well.”

The Lord Minister nodded. “Of course, I’ll have my clerk see to it. Good day.”

\--

For the first twenty minutes of the ride back to Brass Castle, Borus kept up a steady stream of muttered curses.

“I don’t understand this at all,” he huffed when at last he could manage words longer than four letters. “How can the Lord Minister expect such a bargain to be honored? Indentured servitude my foot! It amounts to forcing the debtor into slavery! He can’t be serious!”

“He is serious,” Salome countered, “and he does expect the law to support him. As absurd as it may sound, at present it does. I’ll have to scrutinize the documents more closely myself to see if there’s anything to be done about it. I suppose if it comes to it, they could offer servants or livestock in place of Lady Dancon and her siblings, but I somehow doubt that’s what he wants.”

“What _does_ the old mizer want?” Borus grumbled. “Besides a swift kick in the pants.”

Salome couldn’t help chuckling at that. “I’d pay good money to know that myself. The attacks on the Gallen family in general and Aurella in particular have been telling in a way. Whatever his grudge against her is, it’s personal.”

“He can’t really have his britches in a bunch just because a common girl is now First-Lieutenant? The man’s a self-righteous, entitled ass, but that doesn’t seem like motivation enough for all the trouble he’s taken.”

“No indeed,” Salome agreed. “There’s something in back of all this, that’s for certain, but I’m not sure it’s our place to know.”

Borus tilted his head confused. Salome went on.

“If this is a private battle, as Leo said, then he may not want to share the details with us. That is his right, and that of Lady Dancon. I won’t strong-arm them into confessing something needlessly. I will, however, do whatever I can to set this right.”

“Well then, I’d start by putting Lady Dancon under house arrest.”

It was Salome’s turn to blink and stare at the younger man. Borus only shrugged.

“What? She’s doing no one any good stuck in the brig. The only reason she’s there now is because she was born in a barn. That coupled with her sense of honor is the only thing keeping her from behaving like a proper aristocrat and throwing an almighty fuss. I could name a hundred of my cohort who’ve done no more than spent a night in a debtor’s prison, and then with wine and food, and loose women. I don’t see how she ought to be an exception or made an example. Who else have we got to train the cadets? Let her have the run of the castle. That way she can have some freedom, and we can protect her. So long as she doesn’t step outside the castle walls she’ll be perfectly safe.”

Despite himself, Salome had to laugh. “Borus Redrum, you’ve got yourself the makings of an excellent strategist!”

\--

 

Lady Dancon said little throughout the briefing concerning her financial predicament, only speaking when asked a direct question. The sum of goods and cash owed was indeed absurd, and probably had been when Aurella’s father had first made his mark on the pestilential piece of paper. Leo simply nodded, his wife’s hand gripped in his as they sat side-by-side on the sofa.

“Fine,” he said flatly. “We will pay it if it will rid us of his incessant pranks.”

Aurella looked horrified, but Salome shook his head. “I’m afraid it isn’t that simple. The monetary debt is the least of our problems. There is still the matter of goods and services to be paid for Lady Dancon and her siblings.”

“For all I know, my brother is dead and my sister too,” Lady Dancon said with a shrug. “My brother ran off to sea as soon as he was able, and my sister to the St. Loa nunnery. I’ve not seen or heard from either of them since I enlisted.”

Salome nodded gravely. “And so the entirety of the debt falls to you.”

“You cannot be serious!” Leo jumped out of his seat, but instead of anger, concern contorted his features. “Salome, we cannot allow this! Contract or no, expecting such retribution from one person is outrageous!”

“I don’t disagree,” Salome told him softly, “but I do not know what else we can do. He seems determined to have his pound of flesh. Is there anything you can tell me that would explain all this? That might offer us a solution to the problem?”

Defeated, Leo sank back onto the sofa and took his wife’s hands in his. He looked pleadingly into her eyes, but Aurella’s stone-like mask of indifference had already slid into place. Unable to meet her husband’s eyes, she contemplated her lap. With a sigh, Leo shook his head.

“No, Salome. I cannot.”


	15. Debtor's Noose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Percival gets a roommate, and there is a lot of troublesome paperwork.

Not since his time as a Sergeant-Captain had Borus had to share a room. At the time, he and Percival had been of equal rank and within a year of each other, and so had pooled their resources as well as their living space. The room wasn’t much to Borus’ eyes, just a small square box with a fire grate set into one wall and a window in another; one of many identical rooms, and rather smaller than most. He hadn’t ever expected to return. However, having lost his temper with his grandmother and subsequently having had her cast him from the family home, he was glad Percival was willing to put up with him once more.

He had expected Percival to have expanded his domain to include the other side of the room, to have perhaps removed the narrow bedsteads and replaced them with one large enough for two. Goddess knew Percival had admirers to spare, and while it was somewhat gauche to bed lovers while on duty, it wasn’t unheard of. As members of the High Command, they could more or less do as they pleased, code of honor notwithstanding. However, as Percival held the door open for him, the room, it looked exactly as he remembered it.

The two single beds stood against opposing walls, separated by the doorway at one end, and a tall, thin window at the other. There were still two chests, two racks for arms and armor, and a table under the window with two straight-backed chairs on either side. Two shelves were mounted on the walls above the beds. Percival had always slept on the left-hand side. His bed still bore the same worn, patchwork quilt, his shelf a neat row of cloth-bound books. Very little, if anything, had changed.

“It’s like stepping back in time,” he remarked, letting his duffel drop heavily onto the little bed. “Thank you,” he added, lest he seem ungrateful. “Truly, I appreciate it.”

Percival shrugged and waved the remark away. “Don’t worry about it. Truth be told it’s been dull here without you. Besides, this will give us both a chance to line our pockets a bit.”

Turning his back to unpack his things, Borus did his best to hide his burning cheeks. Percival might be able to add to his saving by sharing the expenses, but Borus wouldn’t be building his own nest egg for some months. He had debts- not many, and not large, but they did add up- that needed to be paid. He could rely on his name, on his family’s reputation for grace and the luxury of time granted with which to pay them. He was well-employed, a member of the High Command. Even with his inheritance gone, he was still a wealthy man by most standards. The next few months would be a bit tight, but doable. He’d certainly bought his last bottle of wine for his collection- indeed, he’d thought about selling it- for a while. There would be no need for debtor’s prison, for loans, or anything of that sort. As a merchant’s son, he knew how to balance an account, he’d just never had to before. Still, it was a small, personal battle that he could fight and win. He’d be solvent before the snow began to fall, and then, as Percival had said, he could begin to deepen his own pockets.

“You’re sure I’m not putting you out?” he asked, lifting the lid of his trunk the better to stow his gear. Percival shook his head.

“Not at all. It will be pleasant to have someone else around. My family is enormous. It feels strange and lonely to have a whole room to myself,” he grinned. “Much too quiet.”

Borus smirked. “Are you sure about that? I’d have thought you’d be making plenty of noise without a roommate to complicate things.”

It took a moment, but scarlet leaped into the other’s man’s cheeks and he laughed. “Now Borus, we’ve an example to set,” he said with a grin and a rakish wink. “It won’t do to abuse the privileges of rank.”

“No I suppose not,” Borus agreed, smiling himself. “I imagine you’ve progressed far beyond the hayloft anyway.”

“Quite. If I require privacy, I know where to find it.”

Rolling his eyes, Borus shook his head and went back to unpacking. One of these days he was going to get Percival to teach him his secret.

 

\--

 

The Lord Minister hated travel. Half the fun was _not_ in getting there. Despite the plush cushions of his carriage and the four matched horses that pulled it, the vehicle bumped and bounced over the rutted dirt road even worse than it did over the uniformly bumpy cobblestones of Vinay del Zexay. He did not relish the time away from his office, the Council, or his family. However, his patience had reached its end.

It should have taken mere minutes for the city guard to arrest Gallen’s wench, a few more for the sheriff to notify him that she was clapped in irons in Harbor Prison. However, it had taken weeks- _weeks!_ \- before anyone had thought to tell him that the knights had interfered and spirited the wretched woman off to Brass Castle. House arrest, indeed. The knighthood was fiercely protective of its own, and the Six twice as bad. Lord Gallen he could understand. He’d taken the cow to wife, after all. It only made sense a man would want to protect his property. However, what Gallen doubtless did not realize was that he was not the first to lay claim to the wench. Years ago, when they were both little more than children, the wench’s father had become deeply indebted to his own. All his property- including his wife and children- should have become bond servants to the Ronnikan family until their debt was paid. It had been a sizeable debt. However, she’d ducked the law and his father’s grasp, spiriting her sister off to the St. Loa nunnery and herself to the enlistment office of the Zexen regular army. She’d managed to work off a small bit of her labor debt during her tenure as a cadet, but it was a drop in the bucket. She would pay all she owed and then some. Oh yes, the Lord Minister promised himself, she would pay.

Normally he would have sent underlings to make the tedious journey from Vinay del Zexay through the forest to Brass Castle. The castle was grand enough to be sure, but spare and functional to a degree that the Lord Minister found painful. True it was a major checkpoint for the trade caravans to the east, but the knights kept little enough of the goods themselves. He’d get no fine suppers or choice wine from a lot of soldiers. Still, it would be well worth the discomfort. He did not intend to stay. This trip was to serve one purpose: to take the wench into his own custody.

Upon arrival, the Lord Minister ordered his servants, a clerk and a valet, to take his trunk to his rooms- though none had been allotted him as yet- and to prepare a bath and a meal. Used to such absurd requests, they simply nodded and carried the heavy piece of luggage toward the area that served as the castle’s inn. Not waiting to wash away the dust of the road, nor to await summons, the Lord Minister marched up the stone steps toward the salon, scattering pages and serving girls as he went. He did not knock upon the door, only elbowed the squire guarding it to one side and pushed his way in. Mouth open and breath heaved in, he strode inside, fully prepared to give anyone inside a tongue lashing, but the words died unsaid. The salon was empty. Furious, he whirled and rounded on the squire.

“Where are they?” he demanded. The boy blinked wide blue eyes at him.

“Who, sir?” he asked, all innocence.

“The knights, confound you!” the Lord Minister roared. “The six mighty knights!”

The boy screwed up his face in thought. “Well, I think Sir Lesaurus is out on patrol with Sir Redrum just now. Lord Harras is in the library, Lord Gallen the training yard and…” he paused and thought a moment. “I don’t believe Lady Chris said where she would be for the next few hours. I’m terribly sorry, sir. Sir Fraulein is in the stables if you’d like to speak with him.”

“Lord!” the Lord Minister barked, extending an arm to box the boy’s ears, but the child dodged, only fueling his anger. “I am the Lord Minister of the Zexen Council and I demand to see the Captain-General at once! Or better still, Lord Harras. A man understands these things better than a woman.”

In the Lord Minister’s mind, a clever woman was blight upon her species. Give him a simple smile that could be taken at face value any day of the week. None of this scheming shrewishness for him. He and the Council had thought that a female Captain-General- noble lineage or no- would be more compliant. In this they had proved sadly mistaken. However, one need not necessarily talk to the Captain herself. Lord Harras was a nobleman, the son of merchants. Despite his tactless interview upon Lady Dancon’s arrest, he was more apt to understand the letter of the law- and to agree with it. His honor as a knight would not allow him to do otherwise.

“I will give her the message M’Lord as soon as I see her,” the boy promised, bowing a hasty retreat.

“See that you do!” the Lord Minister shouted after him, descending the main staircase in the opposite direction a moment later.

\--

“Lady Chris?” Louis had taken the roundabout route to Lady Chris’ chambers, running down the main stairs, into the kitchens, out the far door, into the armory, through the training mistress’ office, and back up the rear stairs. “The Lord Minister is here.”

There was a loud splash from the other side of the closed door. “What? Why?” his knight-master demanded.

“I’m not sure M’Lady,” Louis answered. “He didn’t tell me, only to fetch you and Lord Harras.”

Some decidedly unlady-like grumbling was audible through the keyhole of the closed door of Lady Chris’ boudoir.

“Find Salome,” she commanded, bath water sloshing, “and see he knows he’s here if he doesn’t already.”

“Yes, M’Lady.”

“And for pity sake tell Leo and Lady Dancon. I don’t want them ambushed unawares!”

Louis took off at a run.

\--

It did not take long for word to circulate that the Lord Minister of the Zexen Council had come to Brass Castle. Before, the troops would have polished armor and stood extra-straight at attention. Lesser officers would have bowed and scraped, senior officers offering the best they had the better to curry favor with the Council. Since the Fire Bringer War, however, there had been a noticeable change.

His reception was polite, but frosty. Although the officers and rank-and-file soldiers treated him with courtesy, it was with far less than the obsequesity he had become accustomed to. There had been a time when one of the high command might have surrendered their rooms to him. Instead, he was forced to take the most luxurious accommodations the castle inn had available. Having received no invitation to dine with the officers, he took his meals- if one could call them that- in his room, which was nearly as bad as the food. On top of the inedible fare and miserable quarters, the high command seemed to have mysteriously vanished. This left only the First Lieutenants, many of which were the low-born women the Captain had promoted last year. Although they might be able soldiers, the Lord Minister did not believe, for the most part, in placing women in positions of power, particularly commoners with neither breeding nor intellect to recommend them.

At the opposite end of the room’s single table, his clerk shuffled papers and made notations. The constant crackling of parchment and vellum increasingly grating on his nerves.

“Hollenbeck!” he snapped. “Aren’t you finished yet?”

“Nearly, My Lord,” the clerk- a stoop-shouldered, balding man with spectacles balanced on his nose- replied without even looking up. Serving under the Lord Minister required a certain immunity to shouting and peevishness. The Clerk had been tasked with making copies of the original contract as well as the entries concerning the payments made toward the woman’s family’s debts.

“You are copying words in a contract, not painting a masterpiece,” the Lord Minister grumbled. “Get on with it. I want them finished and dry before I present them to Lord Harras.”

“Yes, M’Lord,” was the clerk’s passive response.

\--

 

“Trying to crack the secret code?”

Borus looked up from the roll of parchment spread on the table.

“That’s next on my list,” he replied, briefly putting his quill between his teeth the better to trace a line of text with his finger. “There’s got to be some way around this.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Percival chided with a wink. Borus shot him a dirty look and spat out the pen. “Is it really that complex?”

“Yes and no.”

Percival tilted his head to one side, confused.

“Look here,” Borus shifted the paper so both of them could read it. “It’s one of the worst examples of a Debtor’s Noose I’ve ever seen.”

Percival’s blank expression did not shift.

“It’s legal slang for documents like these,” Borus explained. “Very few of them have done anyone but lone sharks any good. The terms and interest are engineered to make it impossible to pay back.”

“How does it work?” Percival asked, pulling up one of the straight-backed chairs and scooting the document closer.

“The debtor is basically mortgaging not only his house and wordly goods, but his family as well.”

“Zexen isn’t a slave nation,” Percival countered. “How can that be legal?”

“It isn’t, which is why the terms phrase it as owing labor. However, the specifics for that labor aren’t given- no hours, no wages, no interest, no nothing. By these terms, a person stands a very good chance of spending the rest of their lives as a bond servant.”

“But why?” the question was honestly dismayed. “Why do that? What gain is a port-side hovel to a merchant’s wealth?”

“Port-side,” Borus echoed, jabbing the air with his quill for emphasis. “You answered your own question. Twenty years ago, it was an easy way to grab waterfront property for building docks. After the land laws were changed, it was still a good way to staff an enterprise with cheap labor. Someone’s got to crew the ships and load the cargo. It’s much more cost-effective to have bond servants working more or less for free than to hire dock hands who would have to be paid a physical cash wage every week.”

Percival let out a low whistle. “Goddess... How are these sorts of contracts are still valid?”

Borus shook his head. “They aren’t. At least, it isn’t acceptable for respectable businessmen to use them anymore, though I understand they’re still popular in the rougher areas of Vinay del Zexay. However, many of the original contracts still stand.”

“In Saidie’s name, _why_?”

“They can be challenged, but it takes money.”

“And the plaintiffs wouldn’t have the financial means to plead their case,” Percival mused grimly. “It’s all very nicely arranged, isn’t it?”

“Very,” Borus, agreed. “Lady Dancon surely has means to plead her case even without Leo’s help. Unless this is a cruel, backhanded attempt to seize Leo’s home and land, I can’t imagine why the Lord Minister would choose to drag this into daylight now.”

Percival did not answer. Attention drawn inward, he didn’t notice Borus eyeing him curiously.

“You know.”

Percival came back to the present with a start. “Only a guess,” he admitted with a guilty shrug. “It’s not my place to say.”

“But you _do_ know?” Borus pressed.

“It’s just a guess,” Percival insisted. “There’s a reason the Lord MInister wants to see Lady Dancon a chambermaid in his household, as to what that reason is… I couldn’t say.”

 _Can’t or won’t?_ Borus thought, remarking instead: “I’d be more worried about Lady Dancon slipping some arsenic in his wine.”

They both chuckled at this.

“You’re right,” he went on. “If it was only a matter of money, Leo would probably hand over the keys to Gallen Manor tonight.”

“Lady Dancon would never let him,” Percival said with a shake of his head. “This much I do know, it’s not about money, it never has been. This is personal.”


	16. For Better or For Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chris learns the truth, as does Salome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to Quicksilver_ink for her part in this chapter, and inspiration for the whole thing in general.

Lady Chris Lightfellow could not remember her head feeling so full. Salome’s briefing concerning Lady Dancon’s financial predicament had left her head aching. Plunking down on the sofa, she left off her pacing and tried to think. Initially she had been unwilling to entertain any of the Lord Minister’s outrageous claims as anything more than common gossip. However, now it seemed there was some truth to it. What seemed doubly strange was the Lord Minister’s unspoken motive. Lady Dancon clearly knew what it was, but was unwilling to speak. That in itself was one of the most puzzling aspects of the whole mess.

Those under the Training Mistress’s command, thought her an excellent soldier and competent leader. The cadets- and many of the officers- were vaguely terrified of her, but also cited her as one of the best instructors. By all accounts she was fearless to the point of foolhardy in battle, as were the rest of the Lady Guard. Why then was she suddenly so terrified? None of it made any sense.

“My Lady Lightfellow?” It was Louis, tea tray in hand.

“I’m sorry, Louis. Just set it on the table.”

“Yes, milady.”

Chris leaned forward to pour for herself and stopped short.

“Louis? Are you alright?”

The young squire looked up and blinked.

“I’m fine, milady.”

“Your nose is bleeding.” It was also red and swollen, as if he’d been hit.

“Is it?” he asked, bemused, rubbing a knuckle against it to test the truth. “Oh it’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” she frowned. “Have you been in a fight?”

Louis did not answer immediately, but the tips of his ears burned red. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I never said you did,” Chris told him patiently. “Tell me what happened?”

Louis shrugged. “I’m tougher than I look, that’s all. I won’t be pushed around. That’s what she told us, anyway, not to let people push us around just because they’re bigger, or wealthier, or have a title.”

“Who told you this?”

“Lady Dancon.”

Chris smiled. It sounded exactly like something the senior knight would say. “What else did she tell you?”

“That she didn’t want what happened to her to happen to us,” he shrugged. Chris blinked.

“What happened to her?”

It was Louis’s turn to blink and stare blankly. “You mean you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

Louis shifted uncomfortably before answering. “Maybe you ought to talk to her.”

\--

She found First-Lieutenant Lady Aurella Dancon Madam Gallen mucking out her own stall in the stables. She might have a squire, but the elder knight had always preferred to take care of her own animal. Both she and Leo had a love of dogs and horses, and Aurella had never been one to balk at getting her hands dirty.

“Lady Dancon?” Chris began, addressing the older woman by her own title to let her know she had come as a friend, not necessarily as an officer.

“Yes, Lady?” Aurella returned in kind, not pausing in brushing the speckled coat of her mare.

“May I ask you something?”

The motion of the brush skipped a bit, but did not cease. Not looking up, Aurella continued to groom. “About what?”

Chris huffed, fluffing her bangs, unsure where to begin. “Something troubling has come to my attention.”

“Did Leo send you?”

Chris blinked. “No, why?”

Pausing for a moment, Aurella set the currycomb down and instead bent to take up the pitchfork to spread clean straw. “Nevermind. Go on.”

“My squire Louis...he mentioned that I ought to ask you something.”

With a sigh, Aurella rested the pitchfork vertically in a bale of straw and shook her head. “It _is_ about that cussed nonsense.”

“Beg pardon?” Chris asked, confused.

The older woman fixed her with a level stare, her dark eyes boring into Chris as if looking through her. After a long and uncomfortable minute, she spoke.

“I worked hard for everything I’ve got. I did it all with my own two hands and honest sweat. I never took anything I didn’t deserve.”

“I know, I believe you,” Chris nodded.

“Each year I tell the new recruits the same thing: work hard, tell the truth, and not to let anyone push them around just because they’re small or poor or common. I won’t let what happened to me happen to them.”

Chris took a deep breath. “What _did_ happen to you?”

Aurella paused, in the act of returning to her work. Stabbing the straw bale again, she said simply:

“Three boys who would grow up to be the Lord Minister, the Vice-Chancellor of the Keys, and the Council’s Second-Clerk ganged up on me one night on my way back from the privy. I did my best to fend them off, but I was a lot smaller at fifteen than I am at forty. They wanted sex. I wouldn’t give it to them, so they took it by force.”

Chris blinked, unsure if she had heard that correctly. “Did you tell anyone?” she managed at length. Aurella shrugged and returned to the straw.

“Who would I tell? Who would believe me? I’d been here a month, and could not afford to be kicked out.”

Numb and ears still ringing, Chris stood mute while Aurella continued her chores. “What did you do?”

“Warned the other girls,” she said without looking up. “Started going about in two’s or three’s if we could. All of us had to deal with it at some point.”

“Wait- _all_ of you?”

The older knight nodded. “There were twenty-six when we started. Only seventeen were knighted. Read the record for yourself, if you like.”

Sensing the conversation was over, Chris turned and headed toward the archives, determined to do just that.

\--

The doors to the salon banged open, causing Salome to jump and nearly upset his cup of tea.

“ _Tell me you did not know about this!_ ” Lady Chris Lightfellow raged, throwing down an enormous book onto the table so hard that the other end nearly flipped up. Salome did drop his tea at this, the cup shattering unnoticed on the flags. Holding his hands up in surrender, he dared to ask:

“Know about what?”

Shaking with fury, she told him what she had learned from Aurella. His expression slowly morphed from confusion, to disbelief, to outrage that rivaled Chris’. Rising from his chair, he faced his commander.

“You are sure?”

Chris scowled darkly. “Of course I’m sure! Why else would Leo have punched the Lord Minister over such an insult? Why the sudden obsession over Gallen Manor? It’s all so glaringly obvious and yet it’s been covered up for all these years!”

“I believe you,” Salome said evenly, doing much to cool Chris’s anger, “but we need proof. How are we to make a case that has grown so cold?”

“I don’t know,” she groaned, sinking down onto the sofa and covering her face with her hands. “Salome I simply cannot _believe_... It’s just so terrible! To think it happened here. Here! Right here in Brass Castle and no one knew!” Suddenly she lifted her face, an ashen pallor upon it. “Did Galahad know? Do you think my _father_ knew?”

Salome sank down next to her and put a hand on her shoulder. “I am certain they did not. If they had, they would have put a stop to it then and there.”

She nodded, but uncertainly. “You’re right. They would not have stood for that. They would have seen to it that the guilty parties were punished. But what are we to do?”

“We’ll think of something,” her strategist assured her.

\--

Night had fallen, but Chris was not any closer to a clear solution than she had been earlier that day. She knew better than to have expected a quick resolution to so thorny a problem, but it still ate at her - as the commander of all of Zexen’s military, it was her responsibility as Captain General -- her duty -- to set this straight. It galled her that she had been so oblivious.

She paced, making a slow circuit of her chambers, ten paces from door to window and then back again. It was a familiar path, one she’d walked so many times that she really shouldn’t be wasting oil for light.

She glanced at the lamp, then stepped closer, intending to blow it out. There’s been too much darkness already, she found herself thinking, and left the lamp alone.

So… how to shed light on a crime buried decades ago? The records couldn’t be trusted, that much she already knew. The official service records of the Lady Guard were a patchwork of incompleteness, indifference, and erasure, depending on which officers they’d served under. That left personal testimony -- of victims, of witnesses. Of the accused, too.

The Lady Guard had hidden this, as well. They might have told her when she’d arranged for their long-overdue promotions, but they hadn’t. Did that mean they thought she knew and didn’t care? Could it even be some of them would rather it be left buried?

Or did they believe she’d bungle the handling of it? Chris grimaced, and feared that they might well be right on that account. She knew it would be difficult, even with their full cooperation. It had been a chore and a half to marshal the evidence for their promotions, and an even more delicate task to distribute honors and assign their new ranks relative to one another. But that had been a purely military matter; bringing charges against a man as powerful as the Lord Minister was political.

She exhaled. Well, Salome could be counted on to help her navigate that, once they knew the way forward. _If_ they went forward. But she knew the first question the Council would ask would be: why now? Why hadn’t her predecessors brought up this matter?

Chris ground her teeth. She knew the answer to that question, and she did not like it -- they’d been as blind as she had been. _I suppose even I am guilty of placing my own heroes on a pedestal,_ she thought angrily. _And I complain so much when others do it with me._ She had been forced to confront (and eventually make her peace with) her father’s personal shortcomings during the last war, but Galahad had remained a sacred figure in her memory, unblemished and infallible. 

“What a legacy you’ve left me,” she told the Rune on the back of her hand, then immediately chastised herself. This was not her father’s legacy, or Galahad’s. They’d been military men, following the paths of all the men before them, back beyond the founding of the Zexen Federation. As her father’s daughter and Captain General of the army, she had one foot on that path.

But as a woman, she had one foot on a different road, one first trodden only a generation ago. A rough and dangerous road, made smooth through the labors of women who only recently had been recognized for their hard work. Their fortitude had bought her the privilege of being blind to the price they’d paid.

Lamplight glinted as she turned her head to look at the weapon mounted on the wall below the Federation crest. The arced blade of Lady Hazel’s axe reflected the meager light like a tiny crescent moon.

She sighed, and turned squarely to face the axe. She knew what duty was, even when it was presented as an honor.

“My word as a knight, I’ll bring what justice can be brought,” she promised. Her words sounded weak in the silence of the night. What justice. What justice indeed? Although she wasn’t sure she would be able to close her eyes, staying up all night worrying the problem like a dog with a bone was not going to do anyone any good. With a sigh, she leaned and blew out the low flame of the lamp. Perhaps things would look better in the morning.

\--


	17. Trial and Error

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which legal assistance is sought and Chris and Salome discuss some "what if's".

Amassing the necessary paperwork was no small task, but one the High Command was equal to. Addressing the Lord Minister in court, would not be a battle he or Leo could fight directly. However, that did not mean they had no allies.

“Lady Geisal,” Salome bowed to the appropriate degree of latitude. “I appreciate your taking time out of your busy schedule.”

Lady Geisal was doing her very best not to smile, but without much success. Instead, she shook her head and waved him toward a seat. “Not at all. I always have time for friends.”

She did not bother to ask him if he’d care for tea, or even how he took it. These were all things she remembered, stored on some dusty shelf in her mind and taken down only when the occasion called for it. Though perhaps that was being too harsh. A society wife had to remember details like this, and Alica had always had a natural grace with people that he’d never possessed.

“Thank you,” Salome told her, accepting a cup of tea (black with a thin slice of lemon).

“What is it I can help you with?” she asked, serving herself. Evidently she’d also remembered that he had never been one for small talk.

“Lady Dancon, the Mistress of the Sword, has come up against some legal difficulties. I was wondering if we might enlist the aid of your husband?”

Alicia blinked at him over the rim of her teacup. “And how does that concern Lieutenant-General Salome Harras of the Six Mighty Knights?”

“It affects his subordinates a great deal, and therefore affects him.” Undoing the catches on the leather folio he’d brought with him, Salome handed her copies of some of the documents he and Leo had collected. “One of our Lieutenant-General’s has run into some financial difficulties. I was wondering if I might solicit your husband’s opinion as to what to do?”

Frowning, Alica accepted the documents and looked them over. “Salome, what on earth?” She paused and blinked, squinting at the scribbled handwriting. “Is this supposed to be a contract?”

“I’m afraid so,” he shrugged. “I need to know if such a document would still be recognized as legal by the Trade Guilds or any other institution in Zexen. I’m told these sorts of bargains are rather strongly frowned upon these days, but that doesn’t mean that they don’t exist.”

“Evidently so,” she remarked, still scanning the pages. “Is this what they call a Debtor’s Noose?”

Salome nodded. “It is.” He hesitated, wondering if he ought to say more, and then decided he had nothing to lose. “If the contract had been made to absolutely any other trade family in Zexen, it would be laughed out of court, but because it’s to the Ronnikan family, I can’t say for certain.”

“A debt to the Ronnikan family,” Alica mused, still studying the fine print. “Wait. Not _the_ Ronnikan family? As in Heinrich Ronnikan the _Lord Minister of the Zexen Council_?”

Salome nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“That makes it easy, then.” She looked up at last, stacking the documents neatly on the platform of her heavy skirts. “Why on earth didn’t she speak up before this?”

“As she understood it, the debt had been paid,” he said with a shrug. “Sadly, that doesn’t seem to be the case. He’s dead set on having the debt paid, although I cannot imagine any court in the country honoring it. However, he is the Lord Minister. I’m concerned that lesser officials may bow before the head of the Council.”

“Well we can’t have that,” she said with some horror. “I will certainly speak to my husband about this.”

Salome had no doubt that she would, her words weighted with the gravity of a solemn vow.

“I appreciate any assistance you can offer.”

\--

The knowledge that Lord Terran Geisal was on the paper trail was reassuring. The man could be a bit distracted in social situations, but he knew the various aspects of Zexen law as well as his wife knew the names and habits of her social circle. He could be trusted, and there was much to be said for that. Still, Salome, like Leo, could not shake the feeling that he ought to be doing something more. While he had no doubt Lady Dancon and her sisters would be both touched and pleased by their efforts, it still felt like a pitiful attempt. Like a cloth bandage to a compound fracture, it simply wasn’t good enough.

Strangely- or perhaps not so strangely- Salome wanted to share these concerns with Lady Chris. She was, after all, Captain-General. Not only would she want to be kept abreast of things, but she was a woman. Perhaps she could share insight that he, as a man, could not hope to possess.

“I spoke to Lady Geisal concerning the legal issues,” he told her once the others had drifted out of the salon to their own obligations. “I have no doubt Lord Geisal will do all he can.”

“Good,” Lady Chris nodded. “Thank you for doing that. I’m dreadful with social calls.”

Salome shrugged, a gesture that went unnoticed as his commander jotted something down. “Lady Geisal and I are old friends. Lord Geisal is highly competent when it comes to legal matters. I’m quite sure we’ll see some results if we are patient.”

Chris nodded, appreciative, but occupied. Silently, Salome shuffled through the various forms in front of him, unable to select one, his mind too full of questions. Chris seemed to sense this, for she finally lifted her eyes from the paper in her hand and looked at him.

“What is it?” she asked softly. With a sigh, he shook his head.

“It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“What doesn’t?” she asked, head tilted to one side.

“The financial suit. It seems a sorry way to compensate for the brutalization of more than two-dozen women.”

Salome’s troubled look crept over the features of his captain’s face. “I know, but I’m not sure there’s anything else we can do about it. I know neither Lady Dancon nor any of the other Lady Guard currently in service want to dredge it up again. I can’t speak for those who are retired or married, but it’s likely they feel the same way.”

He nodded, knowing, recognizing defeat, but he couldn’t make himself stop. His strategist’s mind wanted to treat the problem like a game of chess. Surely if he studied the board long enough, if he looked ahead far enough, he would find a way out of this corner to a successful check?

“What would you do?” he asked her at length. Chris’s head snapped up.

“What would you want if it had been you?” The idea sickened him, disturbed him. To willingly share love with another was one thing, to be assaulted, to be made to cooperate by force was something else entirely. A tremor of rage and horror vibrated through him, leaving him tense and breathless. It was the same kind of mortal shock brought about by a blood-soaked battlefield or the realization that he’d been out-maneuvered. For a moment he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. There was emptiness then, followed by sadness, until he remembered it was only his imagination and Chris sat across from him whole and untouched. Safe. Swallowing hard, he shook his head and tried to compose himself.

“I would want to make him pay myself,” she whispered. “I would slit his throat right then if I could, or impale him on the dueling grounds if I couldn’t.” 

Salome nodded thoughtfully. Assault of one’s female relatives was certainly grounds for men to duel. It only made sense that Chris would want that right for herself.

She continued, “I would not want you, or Borus, or anyone else doing it for me. But I’m a noble and a captain, so I can demand that.”

“I understand.” Automatically, as if accepting orders, he placed a hand over his heart for a moment. Remembering himself, Salome folded his hands in his lap again before asking: “But would you want others to know?”

“Absolutely not.” Chris closed her eyes. “And have everyone know my shame as a knight for being unable to defend myself, and as a disgraced woman?” 

“Is Lady Dancon a disgraced woman?” he countered. “She had three to contend with, which would be difficult for anyone- male or female. I would further argue that a woman deflowered by force bears no shame. Her honor is not lost, only that of the one who would steal it from her.”

Chris considered this for a long moment, then nodded. “I did not mean to place blame with Lady Dancon or the others,” she said softly. “I was thinking only of how I might feel, in their place.”

“I would respect your decision and theirs,” Salome told her. He could well understand the Lady Guard’s wish for silence, to not relive unpleasant memories. If such a thing had been known when they were young, it might well have destroyed their careers, or any other chance to make a way for themselves. Even heading towards retirement, it might still jeopardize their position as veterans. Those retired or married risked their pensions, their station, their friends. It all seemed monstrously unfair.

“I don’t know how they did it,” he said at last, the words escaping as a heavy sigh.

“Do what?” Chris asked.

“Bore it all. Here I am, a noble son, and while I had to work for my station, I will never know or understand the kind of labors they went through. Not one word of complaint despite countless wrongs.” He shook his head, utterly at a loss. “I understand now, how Leo feels. Surely the best thing for me to do cannot be to sit idly by and say nothing?”

“Have you asked Lady Dancon about it?”

Salome shook his head. “No, but I shall.”

\--

“No,” Lady Dancon told him shortly. “Too much has been sacrificed already. We were happy to do so. Do not make a mockery of all that we have worked for.”

“Some sacrifice-” He fell silent as she held up one hand.

“Not all of these people are soldiers, Lord Harras,” she reminded him. “Some of them have families now, and children. I asked it of my husband, and I will ask it again of you: what do you wish to gain by pursuing this? It is no insult to you. Why do you take such offense?”

She was not scolding per se, her tone was that of genuine curiosity.

“Lady, what happened to you and the others was a crime.”

“Of which I am well aware,” she replied dryly. Salome felt his cheeks burn, and thought he might have an idea as to why Borus and Percival were yet intimidated by their former Sergeant-Captain.

“Those responsible must answer--”

“Are all knights this thick-headed,” she cut him off again, “or is it just you lot?”

He couldn’t help blinking at that. “Pardon?”

“Small wonder Lord Wyatt’s girl is running things.” Turning away from him, she sighed. “Lord Harras, I must formally ask you to abandon this particular quest. This could very well destroy hundreds of lives- the lives of the survivors, and not those who assaulted them. Do not take from us what we have worked so hard to earn.”

Chastened, he lowered his head in acquiescence. “Forgive me, Lady. I only wanted justice.”

“As do I, but such a thing is not always ours to render. Everyone must answer for their deeds- good and bad- eventually.”

“You are hoping the man who did you violence will fall on his own sword?”

Facing him at last, he noted an unfamiliar expression on her face; grim and determined, like the war mask she made of her features before a battle.

“I am counting on it.”

\--


End file.
